Looks Bad On Paper
by Lotus Wright
Summary: It looks really bad on paper: A young, poor student and not even a single one at that, falling for a much older chef. The idea of him is as bad as it is irresistible. Mostly ridiculous, angst-free, AH AU, E/B, May-December.
1. Chapter 1: Get a job

**A/N: I have no idea what I'm doing. I once wrote one fic when I was 14 and that was the end of my writing career, but I couldn't resist trying this. It'll be angst-free and mostly ridiculous. Please let me know what you think, because as I said, I have no idea what I'm doing.**

"Fuck. Nononononono! STOP!" The oranges I had just bought were currently leaving the grocery bag and falling down the stairs that led up to my apartment and they would not listen to my pleas to stay put. Perfect. Because today hadn't been quite craptastic enough yet.

My fruit was currently finding its way to the sidewalk and I would have to run and pick the damn oranges up in the pouring rain before they'd end up smashed or in traffic. I was definitely never going to buy any kind of ball-shaped food ever again. And I was late, so late, and Jake was waiting, and I was looking forward to talking to him almost as much as I was enjoying running after the freaking oranges.

Five minutes later, I had managed to save all but one of the damned fruit, having run after the damn things like a hunger crazed hobo. Still, five of my slightly-bruised oranges were now safely back in my possession, so I figured I could count that as a small personal victory. Hurray, I had made it. I am so awesome. I rule.

I am also twenty minutes late. Unpacking groceries, showering and putting on warm, dry clothes would have to wait. I turned on my laptop, quickly sought out Skype, and placed the call to Sydney, Australia.

"Babe! What the hell? Why are you so late… and wet…?"

I sighed at the handsome face of my far away lover. "Hey Jake. Bad day. Don't ask. How are you?"

He grinned his toothpaste-commercial-smile. "Just peachy, darling." I waited for more, but he said nothing else. The fact that he wasn't asking any follow-up questions meant that he was already high as a kite. He started grabbing some things that were off screen, but I already knew what it would be, and wasn't surprised as a joint appeared in his hand.

"How many of those have you had today?" I couldn't help but ask.

He lit the joint and took a drag before answering. "Uh, I dunno babe. Three? It's already like the middle of the day here, you know. Gotta get through college somehow!" He cackled, apparently thinking this was a hilarious thing to say, and that constantly being high was a perfectly legitimate way to spend your day. "Why do you ask anyway? You're not joining me?"

I had pretty much had enough of the whole stoner act months ago. When I came to Australia a year ago, I had been a curious twenty-year-old who had never done anything illegal or even a little bit naughty. Can't really break the law if your dad's Chief of Police, really. So once I arrived in Australia and met Jake and his merry band of crazy friends, I tried all sorts of things. Pot was nice and made me stress less, but I quickly got caught up in Jake's way of life, which basically meant being high most of the day. That was fun while it lasted, but as soon as I left the University of Sydney at the end of my semester's exchange period, I had figured out that I don't necessarily become a very interesting person when high. There was a lot of sleeping, mumbling, eating fast food, and lazing about. Watching Harold and Kumar on repeat, because we were all too lazy to get up and turn off the TV. Scarfing down weird Australian candy because we had the munchies. Did I mention the lazing about? Yeah, it did not bring out the most exciting part of me. So, back at UW, I'd left all of the Australian life behind me. Except for Jake. We said we were going to make the really really really long distance relationship work, and we'd both been optimistic at the beginning. Now, sobered up and back in Seattle, I was starting to have my doubts.

Jake the scatterbrained pothead didn't actually wait for an answer to his question and continued. "So what have you been up to today?"

"Uhm." I had nothing. I had literally done nothing of interest since we'd talked last. "Jake, we talked before you went to bed last night. That was 7 am for me. It's 6 pm now and all I've done is eat and study. I have absolutely nothing interesting to say about my day except that it rained and I dropped my groceries." This is the problem with Skyping so many times. There comes a point where so much of my life is spent on Skype that I don't actually have a life left to live outside of it. "I'm broke and am going to need to find another job. Probably something in the evenings."

"Ah but babe! We always chat in the evenings. Well, your evenings. My uhm… afternoons. And my middle of the nights. And holy crap this time zone thing is confusing."

Yeah, maybe you should stop smoking so much pot so you can actually use your brain properly, I thought. Once you can remember that Seattle and Sydney are 19 hours apart it's really not that hard to figure out the times.

I started steering towards the goodbye part of the phone call once I noticed Jake was more interested in satisfying his munchies than actually having a conversation. He didn't even notice me rolling my eyes at his incomprehensible mumbling and stuffing his face with cookies. "Right. I'm going out to look for a job. Bye, Jake. Love you."

"Bye, Bells! I love ya!"

Well, at least he wasn't distracted enough by his weed to say that. Small victories.

I wandered aimlessly around a part of town I wasn't too familiar yet, but there were lots of shops and restaurants that I was hoping would hire me. I already worked as a tutor and in a commercial call center, but college is really expensive and my noodles and fruit diet was starting to annoy the shit out of me. I needed a steady part-time job.

I passed a restaurant called The Rose that looked promising and figured I'd give it a try.

"Hi there! Welcome to The Rose. How can I help you?" a bubbly fake blonde girl asked me immediately after I stepped inside.

"Hi!" I tried to match her bubbly sound, hoping she'd mistake my lousy acting for enthusiasm. "I was wondering if you have any vacancies for waitresses? I'm looking for a job."

"Oh, that is totally awesome! I'm Jessica, by the way. I'll go get the manager for you, don't go anywhere!" And she hopped away. I'm not even exaggerating; she didn't really _walk_ away, it was more like she was trying to impersonate a bunny.

"Hi, I'm Mike. I'm the manager," a blonde guy with a beer gut said in the direction of my cleavage.

"Hi, I'm Bella. I'm looking for a job, do you have any openings for waitresses?"

"Do you have any experience with waiting tables, Bella?" he asked my boobs.

"Well, no. But I learn pretty fast and I thought it would be good to build some experience in customer ser-"

"Right, right, that's all fine, Bella, you don't need the experience, I'm sure you'll learn!" he interrupted me with a wave of his hand. He still hadn't looked me in the eyes, but I figured if my boobs were going to get me a job this easily, it wouldn't be quite as amoral as sleeping my way up to the top, so I wasn't going to complain. I can handle pervy bosses as long as they look but don't touch, and let's be honest – my boobs _are_ amazing.

Beer belly Mike suddenly looked away from said boobs to give my entire body a thorough pervy once-over and I tried not to shudder. Everything about this guy made me want to cringe. His beer belly was tucked into black pants with an outrageously flashy belt, with a buckle that I was pretty sure said "STUD" in diamonds – but I wasn't going to double check that by looking in the direction of his crotch. His black button-down shirt looked expensive but was probably bought when he weighed thirty pounds less; the buttons were straining against his chest and I was afraid the one trying desperately to spare the world a view of the biggest part of his stomach would snap any second. His blond hair was gelled back so much it looked overly shiny and greasy, and I wondered if he was trying to look like he was ten years younger than he really was.

"Well, alright, we can definitely use you around here. Would you like a tour?" He had already turned in the direction of Jessica, who was pouring drinks.

Considering this was pretty much the easiest way to get a job ever, I shrugged and followed him to the bar.

"This is my star worker, Jessica," Mike said while leering at her, and the way he said 'star worker' made me feel like he was trying to act like a pimp, talking about his most skilled prostitute. Jessica didn't seem to mind and beamed in Mike's direction. Okay then. I guess not everyone is as repulsed by Mike the Manager as I am. "Over there by table six – don't worry, you'll learn the table numbers soon enough – is Lauren. We have about fifteen different waitresses right now, and most of them are part-time so you won't meet all of them, except for Lauren, Jess and Tanya, who's not working today. They'll show you the ropes. Listen to them, they are VERY important people and they're going to teach you Very. Important. Things."

I didn't want to talk down the profession of waiting tables, because I wasn't sure at all that I'd be any good at it, but the stern way Mike finished his statement made me feel like he treated his work as if he was personally guarding Fort Knox, which seemed a little excessive. I managed to stay silent and nod, as we continued to the back, where the kitchen was.

"That's Tyler the sous chef, and Edward, the head chef." Mike pointed at the backs of two skinny guys who were far too busy yelling orders at each other and stirring things in pans and generally multi-tasking in a way I knew I would never manage to pull off in my own kitchen. The noise of the stove, the oven, the clanking of kitchenware and their mutual yelled-out orders almost drowned out Mike's introduction.

"Huh, I thought chefs were supposed to be really fat people!" I blurted out over the noise. Loudly.

That, of course, they heard, and both of them turned around, as my blush covered my cheeks. Spectacular, Bella. Awesome first impression. I looked at Tyler, a twenty-something African American guy, whose amusement was clearly showing in his face as he nodded at me and smiled. I grimaced as I tried to find the courage to look at the head chef in order to introduce myself properly. Biting my lip, I turned my head and found myself looking at the most amazing green eyed supermodel specimen of a man. He was clearly older than me – early thirties, perhaps? – and he looked at me with a swoon-worthy crooked grin and I swear his eyes sparkled, clearly enjoying my utter humiliation. But holy crap he was _pretty._

"Hi, I'm Edward."

"Uhm. Hi. I mean, I'm uh… Isabella. Bella. I mean Bella. Call me Bella please." Because clearly, even introducing myself to this guy proved impossible.

It's a good thing I was still in love with my Jake, because this guy was so many things I shouldn't think about. At least ten years older than me, a successful chef to my lousy poor college student, probably married to some equally attractive supermodel, probably has a house filled with supermodel babies. Worst match on paper ever and why am I even thinking the word 'match'? Stop, Isabella. Think of Jake. Not this guy. Good thing I have Jake. Right.


	2. Chapter 2: Waitressing is hard y'all

**Chapter 2.**

 **A/N I'm supposed to say I don't own Twilight right? Well duh.**

 **This is unbeta'ed because I have no idea how to find a beta. If you do, please let me know ;)**

 **I want to thank you for reading, following and especially reviewing!**

 **This one goes out to all the waitresses. Waitressing is HARD, y'all.**

I was NOT a good waitress.

Three hours into my first shift at The Rose and I was already certain of that. Books, learning, school, that I could do. I'd always been book smart. Balancing a tray on the fingers of one hand while constantly messing up said delicate balance as I grabbed the drinks with my other hand, however, was going to take a lot of practice. I had only broken one wine glass so far, and Tanya, who was teaching me the ropes, said that was fine and everyone broke stuff on the first day, but I just felt so incompetent. I couldn't even open a wine bottle properly, for crying out loud! I was used to drinking cheap wine that came in cheap screw-cap bottles, but now I had to go over to a table, use a weird corkscrew that I was supposed to call a sommelier's knife, and remove the cork right there while the guests were watching my every move.

The sommelier's knife hated me, I was sure of it. I'd managed to break off two corks already, getting little pieces of cork stuck inside the bottle of expensive wine, and I feared for the next time that a guest would order a bottle.

And anyway, what made me decide to become a waitress when I couldn't even walk across a flat surface properly on a good day? All my energy went into focusing on my steps and the damn trays with drinks, and I simply had none left for a genuine smile and politeness when faced with rude customers. Guests. Whatever. I never knew people could be so rude in restaurants. I'd been tempted to yell at more than one person already, but above all, a waitress needed to remain friendly, warm and polite. Rule number one, apparently. I was about as good an actress as I was a waitress.

Tanya was currently teaching me to pour beer. I was on my third try, the first two beers ending up being more foam than anything else, but Tanya applauded my third effort, which looked slightly less dismal.

Tanya had the patience of a saint and I hated her for absolutely no reason. She was a little overly friendly, seemed like a natural floating around the restaurant, smiled and joked with guests, and oh yeah, she looked like a supermodel. I wondered if she ever got really angry or if she was always this ideal specimen of a human being.

"Yes! That's it exactly! Yay, you've got it! Great job, Bella!" I swear, she squealed and clapped her hands as she noticed my fourth attempt at pouring beer in a glass turned out decent enough. Do not roll your eyes, Bella. Tanya is _nice_.

"Thanks, Tanya! Shall we go see what else I can figure out today?"

And at that, I was back at serving drinks, which was fine by me, because Lord knows I needed the practice.

*.*.*.*

It was 11.30 pm and I was dead on my feet. I hadn't thought about just how much a waitress walks around in a seven-hour shift. My hand hurt from balancing the tray, my face hurt from the constant fake smiling, my stomach grumbled because when you work during dinner rush, you don't actually have time to eat anything yourself, and oh God my feet hurt so much.

But the night was winding down. The four of us – Tanya, Jessica, another girl named Bree, and me – were cleaning up the tables, floor and bar, and the kitchen crew appeared from the back. I hadn't served any food today, just drinks and taking orders, which meant I hadn't had any interaction with the kitchen crew today at all. Mike the Manager also appeared out of thin air. I swear that guy thought managing a place meant sitting in your office and jacking off all day. I was pretty sure he didn't actually do anything useful and I had only seen him twice, briefly, while he had only seen my boobs. And Jessica's. And Tanya's. And a handful of guests'. Come to think of it, the two times he'd come out of his office were times when he suddenly felt the need to go over to a table to ask if the guests were enjoying themselves, and both times he only talked to tables that were clearly occupied by a group of young, college-aged girls. Pervert.

Tyler, Edward and a guy named Eric came out of the kitchen, laughing and talking. These guys were used to the long nights and all the walking around, and they seemed a lot more alive than I felt at that moment, wiping down the bar with a cloth, sweat on my forehead, and my hair a definite mess in its loose ponytail. I was definitely rocking the best Bella look there ever was.

"Hey, Bella," Eric said slowly, working hard on pronouncing those two words. Eric was a good kid, I'd learned from Tanya, but he wasn't all there mentally. This was good news for Mike the Manager, because he'd managed to get some kind of subsidy for hiring a mentally challenged person, and Eric was actually really useful. He wasn't allowed to do the real cooking, but he prepared the salads and side dishes, and took his job really seriously. We'd only shaken hands at the beginning of my shift, but I liked him already, and I greeted him back.

"Dollface!" Tanya suddenly exclaimed.

"Princess!" I hadn't had any real contact with Edward yet, and I had never even heard his voice beyond that short introduction on my first day, but somehow I knew this was him saying this, without even looking. Edward and Tanya hugged. I was pretty sure Tanya's feet weren't even on the floor anymore as he picked her up in some odd bear hug, and I saw Tyler roll his eyes. I was also pretty sure that in general, hugs didn't last for over ten seconds, and didn't involve the girl being twirled around the room.

Wait, were Tanya and Edward together? She hadn't mentioned it. And I obviously hadn't talked to Edward about it, because we hadn't talked… at all. I'd just been daydreaming about those eyes, the one time I had seen them, which was borderline psychopath as it was.

Just then, Edward gently set Tanya down on the ground and turned his attention to Jessica. "Hey, gorgeous!" he said as he kissed her on the cheek. "How are you holding up tonight?"

Jessica mumbled a 'pretty good, thanks Edward' while blushing furiously, and I watched in – I don't know, awe? Shock? – as he made his way over to Bree, and gave her a hug and a greeting as well. I couldn't hear what they were saying but I'm pretty sure I heard him say "hey there, beautiful".

I didn't know what to make of that, and I didn't have time to ponder, because Edward was currently walking towards me. Was I going to get a greeting like that, too? Oh fuck, if that happened, I was sure I was going to be blushing up to my ears and I'd lose the ability to form a complete sentence.

"Hey, Bella, right?" was all he said. He didn't even come close to me. Well, I guess that made sense; we didn't actually know each other and this was the first time he'd said anything to me.

"Yeah. Hi." I managed to mutter. He was looking at me from the other side of the bar, which I was still haphazardly wiping down with a cloth, although I'd been rooted at my spot since the kitchen crew came in. I was pretty sure I'd been wiping the same spot for the past few minutes. Lost in the repetitive motion of cleaning, my own thoughts, as well as his pretty eyes, I tried to force myself to snap out of it and behave like a normal human being.

Edward opened his mouth to say something else. Would he call _me_ by some silly nickname? I mean, Princess, Gorgeous and Beautiful? _Really_? I knew I wasn't nearly as attractive as the other girls, but hey, maybe I could be Sort-Of-Pretty-Girl. Okay, this was getting to be pathetic. _I_ am pathetic.

"So, Bella. Could you get me a beer?"

Really? A beer. No nicknames. No affection at all. Just a beer. Well, okay then. Point is made, mister chef, I thought, as I made my way over to the tap and got him a miraculously perfect pint of beer.

 **Thanks for reading! If you made it this far, please take the time to drop me a line. You have no idea how much it makes me (as a first time, inexperienced writer) to receive those little review messages, even if it's only 2 words :) I'm curious what you'll think of Edward's behavior. Muahaha.**


	3. Chapter 3: Drugs and booze and sex

**Yay chaper 3! Took a while. I was out (graduated my MA degree, went abroad on vacation, got the flu) and also this was a bitch to write. As an amateur, it's easy to think of the story in bullet points like "they talk" and "she works" but actually having to expand that is a lot harder :') I'm learning!**

 **Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far! You make my day. Please keep doing that.**

 **Still not mine. Still not beta'ed. Hope you enjoy.**

xoxoxoxo

I was tearing apart the mess that was my room, trying to find my only pair of black slacks to wear to work, at the moment Skype alerted me of an incoming call. A glance at the clock told me I had exactly seven minutes before I had to be at the bus stop or I'd be late for work, but I couldn't, and wouldn't, blow Jake off again.

"Hey babe," he uttered his standard greeting. Jake almost always called me babe, throwing in a 'Bells' maybe once every fifty 'babes'. I'd started counting, because it always made me wonder if he seriously did not remember my name or if he was just lazy like that. I mean, it's nice to have a pet name and I thought babe was really not a bad thing to be called by your boyfriend, but sometimes I'd want to hear that he actually knows my name, too. I suppose the seldom-heard 'Bells' was close enough.

"Hey, Jake. What's up?" I asked in the direction of the computer screen, while my eyes still searched the small room for my black pants. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him move his webcam so that his entire upper body was visible, and I stopped searching for a second. "What are you doing?"

He didn't reply, but his right hand disappeared from sight in the direction of his crotch, and his eyes were closed. Was he honestly going to _start_ a conversation with one-sided masturbation?

"Jake, seriously?"

"Oh come on babe, I'm horny and I miss you. Take off your top, please?" If that was supposed to be seductive, it was not working for me at all.

"Jesus Christ, you didn't even ask me if I was feeling horny. I'm not a fucking peep show, and I have to go to work in – let me check – four minutes and I still cannot find my goddamn pants. Will you stop already? I don't have time for this bullshit."

Okay, that may have been a little excessive on the swearing part, but it did get the point across, as both of his hands were now back in view.

"Babe, I haven't had sex since you left like a year ago and –"

"Four months, Jake. Seriously. I hadn't even met you a year ago."

"Well, whatever, it's been a really long time and it's been ages since we've even done anything on the webcam. You're never even there."

I could kind of understand his complaint. A month ago, I'd been annoyed that all I did was study, work and talk to Jacob in the evenings when I had absolutely nothing to say. Now, with my job at The Rose taking over so much of my time, we only chatted two, three times a week, and most of those chats were cut short because of my busy schedule.

"I know, sweetie," I sighed. "But the good thing is that I'm making money, which means there's a slightly higher chance of being able to afford a plane ticket to Australia in a couple of months. Which means real sex. And maybe if you got a job instead of just smoking up all day after school, we could save up together and we'd get there quicker." Yes, I just had to get that in there. Couldn't help myself. I loved Jake but holy hell was he becoming the ultimate stoner, and it was getting on my nerves: it was ridiculous, he was almost unresponsive when high, and it was a really, really, expensive habit to have.

"Oh babe! I totally got a solution for that. I'm gonna – wait for it – _sell_ the dope instead of just buying it. My buddy Sam is gonna hook me up with a batch, and I'll sell it around campus, and make a shitton of money real fast, and I'm gonna pay less for my own dope, so it's a win-win-win something or other. Isn't it awesome?" He looked as giddy as a kid in Disneyland.

I stared, speechless, my mouth hanging open, for a good ten seconds before shaking it off. "Uhm. Jake. I am nowhere near a morally perfect princess or anything, but you're seriously happily telling me you're going to become a _drug dealer_ now, and you expect me to be okay with that?"

"Oh come on, it's just weed, mostly, which is harmless! And it's college students, it's not like I'm roaming the streets selling heroine."

I did not miss the fact that he seemed to skim over the details in there. "Define 'weed, mostly'."

"Uhm, well, like I said. Weed, mostly. I got a hook-up for some acid, but that's totally safe too, cause you can like, hide it in paper and it's colorless and odorless and so no one's even gonna know it's not just a piece of paper until they put it in their mouth, and who's going to put a random piece of paper in their mouth huh? It'll work out, it's a brilliant plan," he added smugly.

"Right. Well. It's also a plan that I am not in the least comfortable with, but I do not have time for an epic rant on all my reasons right now, because I have to work, now. Bye Jake!" And with that, I ended the conversation and ran out the door to catch the bus.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

"I'm just going to file this away as a beginner's mistake, and if we're all clear on not letting this happen again, we'll forget all about it, alright?"

"Yes, Mike. Thank you. I won't forget again. Promise."

"So for this time only, I'll let you work in those jeans of yours, but only cause they're almost black as it is. In the future it would do you well to remember that The Rose is a place that is far too fancy for servers wearing denim."

Now of course, with the whole my-boyfriend-is-a-drug-dealer bomb, I had forgotten to find the elusive black pants before running out the door, so I was now forced to work in my jeans, and yes, I knew that was very unprofessional of me. But Mike the Manager was the kind of person who thrived on what little power he had so much that he could never make a point just once, so I'd been standing in the same spot by the employees' changing room for the past ten minutes, listening to the disgusting grease-ball of a manager drive his point home in as many different ways as he could possibly word it. It was a pretty good exercise for my Waitress Smile as I called it though, because I knew that no matter how much the slime of a man pissed me off, I could not afford to be anything but nice to him. Even if he was _still_ talking to my boobs only, after working here for three and a half weeks.

I wondered if he even knew what my face looked like.

I tried to cut him off from the seventh retelling of The Rules. "Right. Mike, as I said, I am really sorry that I managed to forget to bring the right pants today. And I won't work in jeans ever again, I promise. But my shift is starting in two minutes, so would you please excuse me? I have to see if I can help Tanya out."

"Right, of course, of course," he muttered in the direction of my cleavage. "Despite this unfortunate incident, I can see that you do have admirable work ethic, Bella. I'll talk to you later."

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

Twenty-five days of working as a waitress had not necessarily made me a better one. As soon as I'd taken drink orders from a table, I had already forgotten who ordered what drink. Now, the drinks I wrote down, but apparently it was considered extra nice if you remembered what drink belonged to what person, and I just could not get the hang of it. I didn't break much anymore, though. I could sort of remember what was on the menu by now, and I only forgot to ask how people wanted their steaks cooked about half the time, so hey, improvement. One of the parts I had not gotten used to yet was the post-dinner drinks phase, when people would start ordering fancy liquors that I didn't know existed.

"Hey, Tanya, table 5 just ordered two glasses of something called Remmy Martehhhh or something? I have no idea what that is, or where to find it."

Tanya laughed her sincere, friendly laugh, the kind that was completely genuine and not at all making fun of me, and yet it didn't make me like her more – although I tried to keep my irrational dislike under wraps. "Oh sweetie. I know, there's so many different bottles, right? Rémy Martin is a cognac. I loathe it. The only people I've seen order it are old white men in suits with elbow patches."

"Ha, that sounds about right. I think table 5 is two professors," I laughed. "So, which bottle is it?"

The bar was pretty stocked, and there were dozens of bottles filled with different liquors. I had not yet graduated past beer, wine and the occasional tequila shot, so all the amber-colored liquids were a mystery to me.

"Here hon, the silly round bottle with the man-horse thing as a logo."

I found a bottle shaped like a bursting sun with a bottleneck, which indeed had a javelin-throwing centaur on it. "Check! Now, which-"

"That glass, hon. Fill it up to the line that's printed on the glass." Tanya winked at me, and I had to love her a little bit for knowing what I was going to ask. Why could I not like this woman? I might just be a bitch for not liking someone who is so genuinely nice to everyone.

As I walked towards the tweed-vested, elbow-patch-suited old white men with the cognacs on my tray, I noticed the kitchen lights had gone off and the kitchen crew came out, done with work for the day. They tended to finish up earlier than the bar crew, because kitchen closed at 11pm, but people could – and would – still order drinks. Being the oddly laid-back place that it was, the kitchen crew was allowed to hang out at the bar and have a few drinks, even if there were still guests inside.

I didn't mind. The kitchen crew was fun. Eric had told me the doctors screwed up during his birth, resulting in an oxygen-related problem he didn't quite understand, which led to his mental disability. He had the best work ethic of anyone I had ever met, pushing himself way beyond expectations and working as hard as he could every day – even though he knew he would never be anything more than the kitchen help. It was honestly quite inspiring how seriously he took his job.

Tyler was… I don't know. Pretty good looking, flirty, always joking about sex. He was pretty casual about everything he did, it seemed, so it was easy to joke along with him. He wasn't my type at all, and I wouldn't be interested even if I was single, but that didn't mean I couldn't flirt with him. Lately he'd started calling me his future wife, but I knew he was kidding, so I didn't mind too much.

Then there was Edward, of course. I'd seen the guys at the bar seven times in the past few weeks, always getting a beer or two after a long day's work, and I had yet to find out anything about our head chef that didn't have to do with his looks. He still flirted with all the other waitresses, especially Tanya, touched everyone, talked to everyone in a friendly, easy-going way – except for me. Communication was restricted to 'hi', 'bye' and drinks orders with me. Friendly, but definitely nothing beyond necessary words.

At first I thought it was just because I was new, but for someone who was so ridiculously easy in his talks with all the other colleagues, why would contact between him and me be so stilted? Besides, another new girl named Victoria started a week ago, and he had adopted her into his circle of flirt-friends too. Must be just me, then, although I couldn't figure out why, and I had since given up on that.

Besides, I still had work to do – the cognac guys wanted a whiskey to chase away their cognac. I didn't know anything about liquor, but it still seemed like sacrilege somehow; weren't you supposed to enjoy the taste of these things, and not chase them down with another flavor? Well, whatever. I walked behind the bar, ignoring the kitchen crew for now, and searched for my bottle.

"Tan, we have a whiskey called Glenfiddich right? I can't find it anywhere." I kind of hated having to ask for her help now, under the watchful eyes of Tyler, Eric and Edward; besides, I thought I knew what this one looked like! Dammit.

"Oh right!" Tanya's face came around the corner of the little staff area behind the bar. "I finished that one for some guests earlier tonight. Should be more in the back though."

Ah, The Back. Where extra bottles of every liquor we stocked was waiting for someone to find it and display it properly. A hellhole of 10 by 10 feet, illuminated by one single lightbulb, filled from floor to ceiling with boxes and boxes of nothing but extra inventory. There were no labels. There was no logic to the system. I would just have to look around the piles of booze until I found a box that said Glenfiddich. Awesomeness! Figuring I'd better start looking, I walked out of the bar area, into the hallway, and opened the door to The Back area…

..and promptly closed it again.

I did not just see that I just not just see that. Nope, chanting a mantra didn't make that visual go away.

Leaning against a mountain of boxes of highly breakable liquor bottles was clearly Jessica, who had gushed to me just yesterday about her wonderful boyfriend Dean. And behind her, fingernails deep in the flesh of her waist, thrusting, sweating like the pig that he was, was a very much naked Mike the Manager.

 _Glenfiddich was not worth that much_ , was all I could really think. Back to the bar it is.

"Uh, Bella, are you okay?" Ha! And now, of all times, was the moment Edward decided to speak to me in a sentence not related to pouring him a drink.

I leaned on the bar with my elbows, shaking my head. "Whiskey was not worth that much. My eyes will never forgive me."

"Wait what?" Tyler joined the conversation.

"Uhm, naked. Jess. And Mike. And thrusting. And sweating. And did I mention the naked? And ewww."

Tyler and Edward both started laughing, as did Tanya who heard the tail end of my short sentences.

"Oh no, hon! Did you catch them at it? Well, if it makes you feel any better, there's a club you can join. I think most of us have caught them in a compromising position somewhere in this building in the past few months." She gave me a sad sort of smile and a pat on the back.

"Seriously? They've been together for months?" I asked, trying really hard to not voice the 'ewwww that's gross' that my mind wanted to follow with.

"Well, I don't think they're together, really," Edward interjected. "They're just having gross sweaty sex all over the place. And technically they're not saying anything about it, because she has a boyfriend and Mike has a fiancé somewhere."

"Well. That just makes it better and better." Sarcasm was the only way I could even speak at this point. God, who would voluntarily have sweaty sex with that disgusting beer belly guy with his greasy hair and his I'm-so-cool-complex? Jessica was so much better than that. Even if she herself wasn't all that great, she was still lightyears ahead of Mike.

"I know, I know," Tyler sorted. "It is gross, but it's the way of The Rose. Somehow, someway, most of the crew has hooked up with at least one other crew member at some point. Jess and Mike, Lauren and Mike, Lauren and me, that was a mistake, Stacey and Marc, Tanya and Carlos, Tanya and Caz, Tanya and-"

"Alright Crowley!" Tanya interrupted, putting her hand on Tyler's mouth. "You know you skipped over like seven hookups of your own in there, and let's not overwhelm the poor girl. Yes, as a workplace, this is a ridiculously incestuous bunch of people. We work long hours together. It happens. We deal."

"Right, so, miss Swan, who'd your preferred conquest be? Gotta initiate you sometime…" Tyler winked at me.

"Well, if I answered that question, my boyfriend would be forced to come over here and kick all of your asses, so I'm going to plead the fifth." I winked back.

All four of them – Tanya, Eric, Edward and Tyler – looked at me, mouths open, like I had just told them I killed their puppy. "What, guys? I have told you about Jake before."

"Uhm, no you didn't." Tyler shook his head.

"Sure I have!" I was certain of it. I mean, we'd all talked before, night after night of working late and cleaning up while chatting. Of course I'd mentioned Jake.

"No, I'm fairly sure you have never mentioned a boyfriend." Edward said. "I would've remembered that."

"Huh." Had I really forgotten to even mention Jake? Odd. "Well. Uhm. I have a boyfriend?"

"That sounded like a question, hon," Tanya giggled.

"Well, you are all staring at me like I'm a green blistery alien, so I'm a little freaked out right now. This isn't that fantastic as far as personal information goes, right?"

Eric, Tyler and Edward nodded, but the mood seemed gone, which for the life of me I could not understand. Time to switch topics, I thought, maybe that will help.

"So, guys, it's Friday, anyone got any plans for the weekend?"

"My brother is getting married tomorrow. I'd invite you all to come and party, but it's in Nowhereville, Colorado, so I'm not going to bother saying anything. I'm sure the destination alone can make you imagine just how much I'm looking forward to that. Yay, family." Eric took another big gulp of his beer.

"Well I gotta work, so, nothing new there," Tyler rolled his eyes.

"How about you, Edward?" I thought I was pretty brave. Here he was, only talking to me when necessary for three weeks, thus clearly hating me – but I was not letting it get me down. Maybe it could be my new mantra. I am the bigger person. I am awesome.

"Hmmm, my daughter is bringing her boyfriend over for the first time. That should be interesting."

Wait, what?

He has a _DAUGHTER_?

He has a daughter that's old enough to have a boyfriend?

So he is married then? That's really too bad, he's so ho-

What what what? What the hell am I thinking?

"Wait what? You have a kid? How old are you?"

He looked at me then, amused eyes, crooked grin, happy green eyes piercing my confused brown ones.

"I'm thirty-six, Bella. And I have two, actually. Daughter and a son."

He was much older than I thought he was – sixteen years older than me. He had children, older children even, a family possibly, he was probably married. And for the life of me I did not know why this information was so crushing to me.

xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxoxox

 **A/N: yay actual words were exchanged. I liked all your theories on why Edward was so coldish towards Bella. What do you think now?**

 **Also, I'm torn about the kids' names and suggestions are welcome. ;)**

 **Thanks for reading, and please drop me a line! :)**


	4. Chapter 4: Rants

**Hello people! If you're still reading this, thank you. Really.**

 **I got myself a beta, the amazing mother hen SunflowerFran, who has helped me pay attention to things I didn't know – like overusing the word like. I say like a lot apparently. Quite horrible to reread, actually. Anyway, I'm sure that will be much less now that she has taken me under her wing. ;)**

 **Now, without further ado:**

 **CHAPTER 4**

Not to be dramatic – or, to be honest, to put it as dramatically as possible – I was in purgatory. Life was a series of actions and motions and nowhere did I really feel as if I was getting anywhere.

Nothing new happened with Jake. On the occasions I did manage to talk to him, we skirted around the issue of the drug dealing. That was pretty easy to do because he seemed perpetually high anyway, so it's not as if any real conversation was possible. My annoyance with him grew and grew – partially because of all the weed, and partially because being in a long-distance relationship was just really hard. I had spent some amazing times with this guy and I knew that if we could just find our way back to the same country, there was a good chance, that, at some point, we'd be perfectly happy and in love. But this thing, this Skyping and saying nothing, this annoyance on one side and being high on the other, this did not work.

There wasn't much time to dwell on that, though, and I didn't really want to.

I went to my classes and did my homework, but I didn't feel all that involved with all the English literature I was dissecting. I felt like this: I liked to read, and I loved the classics that were part of the curriculum, but then the teachers would ruin the whole book by overanalyzing every possible layer of the frigging thing. I was going to stick with 'yeah, I liked Frankenstein', and then we got the whole story on Mary Shelley and nineteenth-century women being repressed and fighting back through gothic literature and whatnot. And apparently, I was a bad student for just wanting to 'like' a book.

Anyway. I'll stop ranting about that subject.

I had a tutoring job that I spent a few hours on every week. That dragged along without anything interesting happening. It was after-school tutoring with about twenty kids doing their homework, and two people there to help them: a creepy guy named James for math and science and me for all the languages, history and literature. It was easy enough when a freshman asked for help with English; it got interesting when a senior wanted my help with Latin, which I had only taken for three years myself. I had become an expert on phrasing questions such as, "What do you think is the finite verb here?" And, "well, does it _look_ like an ablative case?" With this approach, they could then answer their own questions. Most of the time.

All the kids at this tutoring thing seemed to be the kind that were rich, with parents that demanded they excel. Poor kids, having to spend two and a half hours after school each day doing extra homework. All for Ivy League, I guess. Gotta make Mommy and Daddy proud. It made me sad but it also made me earn money, and as the poor college student that I was, I set aside my moral righteousness and just helped the poor little rich kids.

Then, of course, there was my job at The Rose. About four nights a week I served meals, took orders, cleaned tables, poured drinks, and generally walked my ass off until the last guests left. Then we all came together to clean the place up for the next day. Sweeping the floors at one thirty am was the absolute worst when I knew I had class at nine am the next morning. But the whole crew just felt so much like a family that working there was… neat.

Even Tanya.

I had decided I should really get over my petty hatred of her. She had done nothing wrong, really. Maybe I just disliked her because she was so damn perfect, pretty and nice. The bitch. No, wait, I wasn't going to hate her anymore, so scratch that last bit.

Even Edward.

I couldn't believe he was thirty-six! That was one ridiculously well-preserved guy. I knew he was older than me – but I was thinking maybe twenty-nine or thirty? Not thirty-six! With kids! I'd been so stunned when he first mentioned his daughter that I never asked him for more information about his home life. This lack of information now frustrated me to no end because I couldn't find the right moment to bring it up and ask all the questions that my nosy ass wanted to ask. How old were his kids? Was he still together with their mother? Was he married? If so, why was he so touchy feely and flirty with all the girls around? And of course, the million-dollar question, why was he flirting with everyone on staff, except for me? Was I that repulsive?

I had never really had a proper conversation with him. We had exchanged words, sure, but an actual chat, not so much.

And I felt like I had to let it go. I knew I was attracted to him, but if I wrote things down, even mentally, I could easily see I shouldn't think about that at all. Yes, he was gorgeous and interesting. He was also sixteen years older than me, had children – one of which had at least hit puberty, considering she was now dating. He didn't give me the time of day, not to mention that I wasn't even single and he probably wasn't either.

My god, was I actually making a pros and cons list?

I was clearly losing my mind.

There was something else that made me feel as if I was in a state of limbo: the music at The Rose. It wasn't really a fancy place, as much as it liked to pretend it was. The music came from a set of four CDs, which were used and switched every day – these CDs would classify as 'sort-of-elevator-music'. So, to review, there were four CDs, of roughly seventeen songs each, repeating Every. Single. Shift.

Busy nights were the best because people would be talking so much that I couldn't hear the music. Tonight, however, was a calm night, and there were only two people left enjoying their coffee and there was nothing I could do to escape the elevator music.

 _Heaven must be missin' an angel  
Missin' one angel, child, 'cause you're here with me right now_

Please make it stop.

 _It's hard to be persistent  
When we're standing at a distance  
So we keep waiting  
Waiting on the world to change_

Ah, John Mayer, my friend. Still waiting on the world to change.

The duo asked for the bill.

The end of the CD was near.

 _When you trust your television  
What you get is what you got  
Cuz when when they own the information ooohhh  
They can bend it all they want_

I now knew by heart, songs that I never wanted to hear in the first place. And for some reason, I couldn't NOT listen to the lyrics. I knew I would dream these songs tonight. John Mayer, as much as I hated him, was a godsend in the sense that he was one of the few artists on the CDs that actually made music in this millennium. Small favors, indeed.

The kitchen crew took their places at the bar as the last two guests left the building and the next song started torturing my ears.

 _And I miss you  
Like the deserts miss the rain_

"You know," I addressed the kitchen guys as I gave them their beers, "I really don't understand this song."

"What? It's a classic! One of 1994's best songs." Edward seemed personally offended.

"Right. I'm not even going to ask how you know that it's from 1994. Since I was far too young to understand songs like this at the time, I'm just gonna chalk it up to a generational issue. Anyway – my point is that the lyrics don't make sense." I let that sink in as I put the chairs up on the tables throughout the restaurant.

"All right, I'll bite. Why don't they make sense?" Tyler asked.

"Because! She's missing _'you'_ like the desert misses the rain, right? And the whole song is about how much she misses this person. But a desert, is in fact, an ecological environment, which has adapted throughout the centuries to a life without rain. So a desert really doesn't _need_ any rain to survive. In fact, if a lot of rain suddenly came to the desert, it would fuck up the entire area. So, missing someone like the desert misses the rain is like saying, _I don't miss you at all because I have become someone who is absolutely, freaking excellent at living without you._ The desert doesn't miss the rain. The desert _thrives_ without the rain and if the rain came back, it would ruin everything."

I paused with a chair in my hand as it became apparent that Tyler, Eric, and Edward were all just looking at me, one eyebrow raised as if they were identical triplets. It was quite a sight, these three chatty guys at a loss for words.

"Right." Edward was the first to break the silence. "You've certainly put a lot of thought into that."

"Well, I can't help it, this song comes up at least once every night I work and I tend to remember lyrics and the damn lack of logic in this song gets me every time. You have no idea what torture it is to listen to some modern radio music and not be able to get the idiotic words out of my mind. I'm just going to put on my iPod now and sing along to whatever bad music I can find on here because this elevator music shit is depressing the crap out of me." As always, the late nights and weary bones were stimulating my potty mouth, it seems.

The three guys were still looking at me, frowning, but all of them now had their head tilted to the side as if they were observing some kind of extraterrestrial being. I ignored them. If they were going to relax and drink beer while I still had to sweep all the floors, they were just going to have to deal with my crap ass taste in music.

 _All that I have is all that you've given me  
Did you never worry that I'd come to depend on you  
I gave you all the love that I had in me  
Now that I've found you've lied, and I can't believe it's true_

I'm not the world's best singer, but it's quite possible there is no better song in this world to sweep the floors to than Sam Brown's _Stop_ , so I did my best to ignore the cooks and just do my things while blaring along.

 _Ohhhhhh ohhh you'd better STOOOOOPP_

They seemed amused at my movements as I dramatically held out my hand out in a stop sign. Or maybe it was the fact that I can't really sing but I was being really loud anyway. Whatever. They weren't sweeping, I was. And since Jessica disappeared again – probably fucking Mike somewhere, but I really, really did not want to know – I was on my own. And I was singing, dammit.

Sam Brown stopped singing and my iPod valiantly shuffled to the next song. I had tons of really bad music on my iPod – stuff I would, in general, not listen to in public because it's too embarrassing – but I didn't care tonight. My sweeping was more like dancing, and it was making me forget about my tired limbs and tired mind, as well as my state of purgatory.

"Aha!" I told the guys who were still watching me, beers in hand. "Enjoy the powers of my off-key singing on this one!" They had since turned on their bar stools, as though it was a show they're watching, and I suppose, on some level, it was. They had never seen me like this. I had never really been like this outside of the comfort of my own room, but it felt as if everything – Jake, work, money, school, being busy, purgatory – had led up to this extremely significant moment of just… letting go.

And so I sang, with my broom as a prop.

 _Something has changed within me  
Something is not the same  
I'm through with playing by the rules  
Of someone else's game_

"What is this song?" Edward asked.

"What! No! You don't know _Wicked_?"

"Wicked what?"

" _Wicked_ the musical, of course. My goodness. I am shocked and appalled."

"I don't like musicals," he answered with a straight face.

It took me a second of two to recover from that. "Well, it's really a shame I already used the shocked and appalled line then. My god. I used to want to be a musical star until I realized I wasn't really any good at acting or singing. But musicals! Pure joy, there. Sorry. I can't even be cynical about it."

"But… they're acting and then they're suddenly bursting out in song. It's annoying and makes me not want to follow the rest of the story. Who does that? Who suddenly bursts into song?"

"Well sure," I countered, "it requires some suspension of disbelief. But I like theater and I like music and musicals combine the two. Plus they're usually pretty good with lyrics too, which is what sticks in my head, so –"

And then Elphaba interrupted me with the chorus and I just had to join in, even though my range will never be quite impressive enough to rival a real musical singer, so I paused my conversation with Edward and start belting.

 _It's time to try  
Defying gravity  
I think I'll try  
Defying gravity  
And you can't pull me down!_

Which as these things go is an excellent line to use while pointing angrily at Edward the Musical-hating Head Chef.

"All right, all right. I still hate musicals, but I don't mind you performing the songs," he chuckled, which was an interesting statement, because I can't imagine that my off-key singing was doing anything positive for this song. Eric and Tyler had been quiet so far, and I realized I'd made quite a spectacle of myself, but, for the first time, I've also had an actual conversation with Edward, so I wasn't going to let embarrassment win this round.

"Thank you, sir. As you are the one leisurely drinking beer and I'm the one still on my feet cleaning these damn floors I would like to argue that I have earned the right to sing along to songs of my choosing, even if it's one that I cannot possibly sing without going horribly off-key." I nodded solemnly.

Tyler and Eric were still silent, sipping their beers. Edward grinned his lethal half-grin at me and I tipped my imaginary hat like the idiot that I was.

My iPod decided to change things up. "Ahem," I stated solemnly as I heard the first guitar strums of the next song. "As I mentioned, I like lyrics, and I tend to be unable to remove them from my brain, and so, I will bring to you now, an entirely perfect, lyrical rendition of one of the most ridiculous songs ever."

The guys were already laughing as if they didn't know that I'm dead serious about my lyrics. I ignored the first chorus, my back to them. This was not where my strength lies. I would wait for the verse.

 _Burn, motherfucker, burn_

And that was my cue to turn around and open my mouth.

 _Hello my name is Jimmy Pop and I'm a dumb white guy  
I'm not old or new but middle school fifth grade like junior high  
I don't know mofo if y'all peeps be buggin' give props to my ho cause she all fly,  
But I can take the heat cause I'm the other white meat known as Kid Funky Fried_

These lyrics are absolutely ridiculous and I loved the Bloodhound Gang for writing them. I swept the corners of the restaurant while Tyler, Eric, and Edward seemed utterly transfixed. And rightly so – I mean, who was crazy enough to remember all these words?

Well, Bella Swan was.

And I showed em.

 _Yeah I'm hung like planet Pluto hard to see with the naked eye  
But if I crashed into Uranus I would stick it where the sun don't shine  
Cause I'm kind of like Han Solo always stroking my own Wookie  
I'm the root of all that's evil yeah but you can call me cookie_

This seemed like the perfect spot to lick my lips and wink at the guys, and so I did. But as the chorus started, Mike the Manager walked in – literally buckling his belt, as if he wanted to draw extra attention to the fact that he had just spent twenty minutes in his office boning Jessica – and my karaoke show was officially over. There weren't any more corners left to sweep, anyway, although I would have liked the opportunity to show off with the second verse.

I finished up, quickly changed into my street clothes and walked past the bar to say bye to everyone. Eric, Tyler, and Mike were deep in conversation and gave me a distracted wave. Edward, however, got up and walked me to the exit, through the hallway, away from everyone's eyes, and I couldn't hide my surprise.

"Uhm. Goodnight, Edward." That was both the most awkward and least awkward thing to say, I guessed.

"Goodnight, Cookie," he smirked.

And then he gave me a quick hug.

Pretending like that hug wasn't the first physical contact I had had with this demigod, I focused on his words instead.

"Cookie?"

"Well, yeah. You're the root of all that's evil, but I can call you Cookie, right?" He winked at me and turned around to go inside, leaving me on the doorstep, a little stunned.

I got myself an Edward Cullen nickname.

And a hug.

It was definitely time to go home, find my bed, and think about that some more.

* * *

 **A/N:**

 **YAY there is Progress! Even if he doesn't like musicals. Tssk.**

 **Also: reviews make my day. Please drop me a line. You have no idea how giddy it makes me to receive these review alerts, even if it's only two words.**

 **What's the weirdest nickname you've ever gotten? I was once called Soup Chicken by my best friend for an entire year and I don't remember why. Oh well.**

 **Did I mention I love reviews?**


	5. Chapter 5: Hungover

**Chapter 5! Who would have thought I'd still be writing? I kind of thought this would be a failed experiment after chapter 2.**

 **Thanks go out to my beta Fran.**

 **Warning: This chapter is ridiculous and includes a Bella with strong opinions that you might not agree with. I am not trying to attack anyone's writing, really.**

 **With that said – blabla disclaimer blabla and enjoy!**

 ***.*.***

 **CHAPTER 5**

"I'm starting to feel that I need a twelve-month planner to find a date to meet up with you, Swan," my best friend scolded as she poured two glasses of wine.

"I know Alice, I know. I've been so busy lately with school, and reading, and homework and all the ridiculous jobs that I'm working. I've barely had time to sleep and I know I suck as a friend."

"Cheers!"

"Wait, we're really doing the cheers thing to me being a sucky friend?"

Alice paused, wine glass near her lips. "Huh. No. We're cheering your awesome timing for saying self-deprecating things while we, as a fantastic duo of best friends, are just about to gulp down loads of alcohol."

"So, coincidence then, added to the fact that you weren't actually listening to me?"

"Yup."

I shrugged. That was worth a big gulp of white wine. Alice was nothing if not honest, and despite her tuning me out in crucial moments of whining, she was an awesome person and my best friend all rolled into the tiniest, human-sized package ever.

"So, how's Jasper?"

"Oh my gosh, B. He is amazing. So sweet. And he does this thing with his co-"

"Gahhhhh stop. Sorry I asked… I have been doing the long distance thing for so long I'm practically a born-again virgin. Please, do NOT talk to me about cocks right now or I might go insane and hump a lamp post or something."

Alice cocked her head and narrowed her eyes.

"Still not backtracking on the monogamy while thousands of miles apart, huh?"

"Nope. I'm in a relationship and I'm committed but I can look and appreciate and that is all. My rules. I'm fine. I can ogle without going crazy."

"Wait, you're ogling? Who are you ogling? Last time we talked, I feared you might be sprouting a habit, carrying a rosary and joining a convent as Sister Bella. But now you're ogling? This is progress!" Alice put down her wine glass in order to clap her hands like a freaking toddler.

"Curb the enthusiasm, please. Besides, progress towards what?"

My best friend grabbed her wine glass again, took a big gulp and looked around the small room, avoiding my eyes in the most obvious way.

"Alice. Not even B-movies have acting as bad as what you're portraying right now. Spit it out."

She sighed. "Okay. I don't want to hurt your feelings. It's just…you told me about Jake…and the constant Cheech and Chong state of being…and the drug dealing and how he's sort of controlling your entire schedule because he's always demanding you to be online. And I'm worried, okay? I know I met him only once when he came over here a few months ago, but honestly, he seemed like a douche, and I wonder if it's maybe time to let him go. There. I said it."

I paused my drinking and looked at Alice. "I get your point. I do. I don't like the drug dealing either. But the constant talking has been a lot better since I got the job at the restaurant. And really, it _is_ just pot that he's dealing, mostly, and with the amount of pot we did up to last year I can't really blame him for that without being the biggest hypocrite alive.

"As for when he was here…I get that he didn't make the best impression. But have you ever met someone who's just really introverted, that's more comfortable in private than with big parties? Jake doesn't talk much to people if he can help it, but if you really take the time to get to know him, he's really a very sweet guy. He got me flowers every week, _made_ me jewelry, took me out on dates and despite the fact that the sex was mediocre, he did always make me come. Does. Present tense, dammit. We're not over yet- I mean, we're not over. Period. Ah, fuck it. I don't know what I'm doing."

Alice scooted over to where I was sitting with my head in my hands and patted my back in a cliché condescending way. She then had the nerve to follow it up with a "there, there, sweetie."

"Alice Brandon, if you are going to say 'it'll all be okay' in that same mother-to-a-toddler voice you're using now I am going to murder you with your own freakishly high stiletto heels."

Alice just laughed. She was too used to my colorful threats to care much about them. "Okay, hon. I won't say that. So, what are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I miss him, you know? I'm not liking the person he's becoming but we had a really sweet relationship before I came here. And I miss that, and I miss the guy he was then, but this is draining me. So I don't know. All I know is right now I'm going to get really drunk with you on my first day off in two weeks."

"Cheers to that!"

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

My classes the next day were…interesting. Not that I had any idea what they were about, but it was the first time I sat through a class with sunglasses on, fighting to stay awake with the biggest hangover since Bradley Cooper and his friends found a tiger in their hotel bathroom.

At 4 PM, I stumbled through the doors of The Rose – sunglasses still on, hangover still present.

"Hello guys," I tried to wave at the guys in the kitchen but failed to raise my arm enough to make it an actual wave. I sounded like a Janis Joplin impersonator after a three-hour concert.

Damn you, Alice.

"Hey, Bella!" Tyler came up to me with a big smile and too much volume. I groaned and rubbed my face because that felt like it might be comforting.

"Ooh, hungover huh? You are so lucky Mike isn't here yet. Hold on, Edward has a brilliant hangover cure. I'm sure he'll make it for you and you'll feel alive in no time. In the meantime, have an espresso. Or three."

He was talking too fast for my slow brain day but I did hear something about cure and espresso, so I loaded the coffee machine with a bunch of coffee beans and made a double espresso for myself, even though I never drank coffee. This was survival, I figured, and downed the entire cup of hot coffee at once, filled up another, and downed that, too.

"Holy shit, did you just down a cup of hot coffee?" Edward asked, incredulous. He was standing in front of me in his chef's uniform – a double-breasted white chef's coat with odd, fake, plastic buttons, and the least flattering pants ever that all the kitchen crew seemed to be fond of – shapeless cotton slacks with a tiny, seizure-inducing, black and white hound's-tooth pattern. Apparently, this was a classic amongst chefs, but I couldn't figure out why. Especially now, with the hangover from hell banging around in my head, the pattern and lack of shape of the pants seemed really offensive. It was truly a testament to Edward's gorgeousness that he still managed to look good, despite those horrific pants.

"Yes. I did just down a cup of hot coffee. Well, I downed two. Two double espressos." There really was no use denying it, and anyway, I was not awake enough to come up with a proper comeback.

"Why?"

"Because I hate the taste of coffee but I really need some caffeine to get through the day, so downing it as if it's a free beer at a red cup party seemed like the way to go."

He still looked incredulous, so I'm sure that wasn't too convincing.

"Doesn't your throat hurt like a bitch right now?"

"Probably, but it's like that medieval theory of medicine – only one thing in your body can hurt at any given time, so the pain in my throat is drowned out by the drilling in my head."

"That's a medieval theory of medicine?"

"Yup."

"Odd."

"Yup."

"Random, too."

"I have a lot of space in my head for random knowledge. Including odd song lyrics. I thought we'd established this."

"Fair enough. Anyway, I can see Tyler wasn't exaggerating when he said you needed this. Here. It might help chase away the drills in your head." He handed me a cup of something…dark green. With flakes in it. And it smelled as if something had been decomposing in it for the past week.

"Awww, you got me a swamp sample. You shouldn't have." I thrust the cup back into his hands.

"Funny. It's not a swamp sample. I won't tell you what's actually in it because it's not going to make it taste any better. But if you want to keep this job, it might help you look – and feel – alive for the next eight hours. Your call."

I slumped my shoulders in defeat. "Do you have a straw?"

The raised eyebrow I got in response was clearer than a question mark.

"I'm not good with weird flavors, okay? And I'm even worse with textures like these. Drinks are supposed to be smooth. Like, I like yogurt and I like strawberries but I really can't stomach pieces of strawberry in my yogurt. I can handle weird-ass swamp-like drinks but there are actual LUMPS in this shit, Edward. I have been proud of myself today for not throwing up despite the hangover from hell, and I would like to keep it that way. But lumps in my green swamp juice…and it's gonna be bad."

Edward handed me a straw that he'd seemingly plucked out of thin air. "You are a very particular person, Miss Swan."

"I'm gonna take that as a compliment. Thanks for the straw and the weird green drink, chef man."

"I'm not sure it was, but go ahead, Cookie." And he turned around and walked back to the kitchen, leaving me with my swamp juice.

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

At 11 PM, I realized something.

People who don't generally drink coffee – i.e., me, – might be slightly more affected than others when drinking two double espressos in combination with Edward's mysterious hangover cure.

I had been _very_ friendly all night, and nothing could annoy me. On the other hand, I was probably annoying everyone around me as I was doing a human interpretation of Flight of the Bumblebees – flitting around, talking a mile a minute, and generally behaving like a coked-up Duracell bunny.

Not even the frat guy that puked in the bathroom could bring me down. Not even cleaning up said puke could ruin my bounciness.

"Oh my god, Bella, could you PLEASE stop moving for a second?" Jessica had reached her limit an hour ago. I had told her I'd stop if I could – but I couldn't, so it was really a moot point.

"Nope, nope, nope, so much to do so little time I think I am going to go and um, check inventory because we're low on house wine. You know the red one and we should restock before we get into a situation where we are out completely. And we have to go to the Back which I have tried to avoid because I saw you there once and you were very naked and it's not like you're bad to look at naked, really, but Mike's hairy beer belly and his naked butt were there too. And there was thrusting and I really do not want to see that ever again and thank you for making me relive this argh the horror!"

I had no idea what I had just said. Something about inventory? Words just kept coming and I never took a breath.

Jessica looked like a deer two seconds away from being hit by a car. "Okay, Bella. You go… get some of those red wine bottles. Take your time."

"I get the distinct impression that you are trying to get rid of me, Jessica, which is a shame, because I liked you, besides your horrifying taste in fuck buddies."

She rolled her eyes at me. "Bella, seriously, work on your filter before I get out the duct tape and shut your mouth with it."

"Okay!" I replied happily and skipped my way to the closet where the house wine was stored. This was a different closet from the infamous Back, a smaller one, which only housed the frequently used house wines.

Unfortunately, for my eyes, this closet was also big enough to get naked in, and I was confronted with a naked man's back.

"TYLER? What the hell, man? Aren't you still working? Who are you doing in here anyway?" Ignoring the fact that his hairy ass was naked and very close to my body, I maneuvered my head around his torso to get a look at whoever he was boning.

"Bree? Seriously? You two are boinking – doing the nasty – humping like rabbits? _In the supply closet_? Did you honestly think no one would come in here tonight? Jesus guys, there is an employee dressing room, at least use _that_ unless you want to get caught. Wait – did you _want_ to get caught? Because I am all for exploring your kinkiness and exhibitionism and all that jazz but this is the second time in a week I have opened a door to find two coworkers having sex near bottles filled with alcoholic beverages and I tell ya, it is NOT doing good things for my brain."

Tyler cleared his throat, bringing my attention to the fact that my rambling had interrupted them – but not quite stopped them, as they were still mostly naked and…enjoined.

"Right. Um. If I can just grab a bottle of red wine there? Great. Thanks. As you were." I clutched the bottle to my chest as if it were a precious baby, turned on my heel and near-sprinted back to the bar.

One look at my face was enough to cause Jessica to have a laughing fit. "Who'd you catch?" she managed to get out between giggles.

"One look at my face and you know that's what happened? This place must be truly high on aphrodisiacs. Really an incestuous bunch of _freaks_ , all of you! Ugh!"

"All of us? That hurts, Cookie," Edward's voice sounded from behind me. Still holding on tightly to my wine bottle, I whipped around and faced Edward, and a new guy standing next to him.

"Just because I haven't caught you in a compromising position with a coworker, yet, doesn't necessarily mean you're not as bad as the rest of them. It might just mean you're smart enough not to get caught. I withhold judgment until I know you better." Caffeine was severely influencing my mouth; all this came out at record speed, talking so fast I wasn't sure *I* could even understand what I was saying.

"Fair enough. I do get the feeling I'm going to have to keep you away from the coffee machine in the future, though."

"Quite possibly a very true statement, sir." I nodded frantically, resembling a five-year-old.

"Right then. Anyway, I wanted to introduce you to Emmett. He's joining us for his internship and will work in the kitchen for the next three months. I'm just giving him a tour now."

"Ah! Hi, Emmett! Nice to meet you. I'm Bella. Swan. Bella Swan. And I've only been here for a few weeks so don't expect me to know anything, because I am quite possibly the worst waitress ever, but it's a fun bunch of people when they're not getting naked together, so welcome! Also, I don't usually talk this much I think? Not sure. I've had a liiiiiiiittle bit too much caffeine and I am having a hard time shutting up. So tell me about yourself so I have a reason not to talk."

Emmett's eyes were wide as he listened to my top-speed ramble and I shook his hand with equal speed and fervor.

Edward started laughing. "Don't worry Emmett, I've never seen quite this level of crazy on her. You'll get used to Bella when she's not high on caffeine."

"Right. Okay. Um, about myself? I'm Emmett, I'm eighteen, first-year culinary school here in Seattle, and this is my first internship, which is very cool. I want to be a chef when I finish school, and The Rose seems like a pretty neat place to build some experience, you know?"

I smiled. Emmett seemed like a nice guy, although, it was possible that I was unfairly influenced by the amazing dimples in his cheeks. He was a good looking guy, very buff, as tall as Edward but conceivably twice as muscled – not that Edward had a bad figure, he was just more…lean. Emmett looked like all he did was work out and eat, and it suited him.

"So, besides the way you handle your caffeine, how about you, Bella?"

"How about me what? About myself? Right now, I have no idea what to tell you as my brain isn't working properly – see how I'm still holding this wine bottle? I don't know what I'm doing."

They both laughed at me, and I couldn't really get mad at them; I knew I was being ridiculous.

"Okay, I'll do it." Edward suddenly interrupted. "This is Bella, and Bella is a student at UW, although we haven't talked enough for me to know what her major is. I know she has another job somewhere and she works hard, although when she says she's not good at waitressing I'm inclined to agree with her. She has the worst memory for people's orders and probably the best memory for song lyrics and random information and if you ask nicely, she might give you an impromptu karaoke performance. Also, watch out what you're going to discuss with her because she has _very_ strong opinions on very random subjects."

Well, that was an intriguing introduction. I scrunched up my face. How did he even know that much? We hardly talked and I thought he never paid attention to me except for when I was being an attention whore, like the other day with the singing and the rambling about how the desert doesn't miss the rain.

"Huh. Pretty neat, chef. And it's literature. My major."

"Good to know. Haven't had time to read a book in years, myself."

My eyes went wide. He doesn't read? Who doesn't _read_? How confusing. I thought I would never be able to like someone who doesn't like reading, but it seemed rather inconsequential right now; Edward was still a pretty cool guy, despite not reading. I opened my mouth to start an epic rant on the value of books but decided against it. No need to scare everyone off, right now.

"So, let's test that strong opinion. What's your biggest pet peeve in books?" Emmett asked.

"Oh, Emmett. Are you sure you want to ask me this question? Or – let me rephrase – are you sure you want to listen to the answer to this question?"

He looked a little scared now – Edward just smirked. Emmett gave me a quick nod, not at all convincing, but good enough for me.

"All right. You asked for it. Here's the thing. I'm not a writer – I could never think of all the layers that some books have, the intricate plot lines and especially all the drama. And, I could never kill my darlings and all that. That's a disclaimer right there, because if I'm going to criticize writing I want to make sure you understand that I have absolutely no delusion of being a better writer myself. Understood?"

Another tentative nod.

"So there's good writing and there's bad writing and I tend to read everything from highbrow literature to cheap supermarket romance flicks and even those are pretty entertaining. And that's mostly all I want from books anyway – to entertain me. So I can get through bad writing often enough as long as the story is entertaining, right? Hold on- let me put my wine bottle down; I'm going to need to make all sorts of hand gestures when I really get going.

"Okay, so where was I? Bad writing. Have you ever read _Fifty Shades of Grey?_ Don't answer that. I know that tons of people love it and why shouldn't they, and I'm not going to get into why I don't love it but there are two things that come up in books like _Fifty Shades_ – and tons of other romancey chick lits – that I just do not understand. Ready?"

Emmett's brows were furrowed and his eyes were wide. I think he had just started to realize what he was getting himself into by asking me a question like that. Well, tough luck. I _did_ ask him if he was sure before I got going.

"So two things they do in romance novels that, to borrow from _Family Guy_ , really grind my gears. First! The eyes thing. Like – _I looked him in the eyes and saw the indecision, the worry, uncertainty, and finally something I didn't understand – was it love?_ I am making this particular sentence up but you get the idea. Have you ever looked someone in the eye and managed to extrapolate three different emotions and feelings JUST from their eyes? How does that work? Is there a hidden language of eyes that I just don't know about? When I look someone in the eye, I see an iris and a pupil and combined with eyebrows and facial expressions I may see worry. Or even love. But I can't read them like a goddamn book."

Emmett said nothing, just staring at me. Edward was still smirking, clearly amused by the ridiculous rant.

"What are you smirking at, chef?" I narrowed my eyes at him.

"You are a very amusing person, Bella. Please, do continue with point number two – I think you may be able to shock Emmett a little more with the epic opinions of Bella Swan."

I raised an eyebrow, but decided what the hell? I was already ranting, and I did say I had two points.

"Point number two – have you ever read the phrase ' _she looked up at him from beneath her lashes'_?"

They both nodded, which was a good starting point.

"Try it. Try it right now. As in, sit down and look up at me while still seeing your eyelashes."

They obediently sat down, put their chins on their chests and tried to look up at me with half-closed eyes, blinking stupidly. It looked as if they were simultaneously having seizures and made their foreheads oddly wrinkly as their eyebrows shot up in the attempt to look seductive. I cracked up.

"Oh god, thank you so much for this, you totally proved my point. There is no such thing as looking through your lashes and especially not in any way that doesn't make you look like a seizing moron or a sleepwalker."

They laughed along with me and admitted that they could only see their lashes when squinting, which as these things go was probably not the intention of writers who employed this sentence.

"This brings me to the end of this ridiculous rant. All done. You still alive there, Emmett?"

"Still alive – but definitely going to think twice before asking your opinion on anything, ever again. It's gonna be a blast working with you, Bella. Thanks for the entertainment." And with that, Emmett showed me that he is apparently a huggy person, as he bent his giant frame down and wrapped me up in his arms.

Yeah, okay. I can hug people I met ten minutes earlier. Sure. This isn't uncomfortable. I can do this.

"Bella?" Jessica's voice came from near the entrance of the restaurant. "There's someone here looking for you."

Still wrapped up in Emmett's arms, I turned my head towards the front of the place.

"Oh my god, _Jake_?"

 ***.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**

 **A/N: You still with me? I didn't make you hate me / Bella / this fic?**

 **Also, did I really give you a cliffhanger? It seems I did. Whoops ;)**

 **What else – thanks to hereforthestories11, because I got the idea for the looking-through-ones-lashes rant from her awesome story Whispers which you should all be reading because it's all suspense and mystery and crime and very unique. Thank you for letting me go off on this lashes thing!**

 **While I'm handing out fic recs – you should all be reading archy12's After the Wedding. You know how there are some books that are amazing, but it takes a while to get started on them? I have that with some of my favorite books (Nabokov's Lolita, for instance, was one I failed at 3 times before finally pushing through and I ended up loving it). This story is kind of like that for me. After the 2** **nd** **chapter I was confused – so many questions unanswered, such a big time jump that I didn't understand, what the hell was going on? But now we're a bunch of chapters in and I am *hooked* I tell you. So go, shoo, read!**

 **(After you leave me a review of course! I'm very curious what you think about the ranting and the cliffhanger and Emmett and Bella on caffeine)**

 **ALSO: WHO THINKS IT IS TIME FOR AN EPOV? :P**


	6. Chapter 6: EPOV

**LOOK BAD ON PAPER chapter 6: Condescending con descending**

 **This is an EPOV! Because you asked. And because I didn't feel like writing all that Jake-and-Bella stuff, heh (so it's basically a cop out disguising as a popularity vote thing).**

 **Edward is not as crazy as Bella is, so this chapter is not quite as insane as the others. He had a lot to say and it wasn't all cheerful and crazy, kay?**

 **Thank you Fran for beta'ing this, it's like you're my own private psychiatrist, patting my shoulder and going 'there there, dear, it's not that bad'.**

 **EPOV**

There was a giant standing in the doorway of The Rose.

A giant with teeth so white they were probably sponsored by Colgate and a body most likely sponsored by a local gym. And, okay, a face that probably appeared in magazines for being all manly nd pretty.

I wanted to categorize the giant as an alien robot, but my rational side was telling me that it was possible that I was just feeling irrationally jealous of it…I mean him… Because Bella – who I'd been joking with only moments before – had left Emmett's arms, squealed, and ran through the restaurant and literally jumped into the giant's arms as soon as she'd spotted him.

There was a lot of squealing and kissing involved, and while Emmett and Jessica just looked on, amused, I couldn't keep watching…that… so I turned around and walked towards the kitchen to pretend I still had work to do. I could always pretend I was ordering supplies for tomorrow if anyone asked. I wouldn't even be able to write the word tomato right now, my mind was that messed up, but who would know anyway?

Admittedly, this behavior meant that I was a thirty-six-year-old man and I was _hiding._ It was preposterous, but it was either that or watch Bella make out with the alien robot giant.

And that was just not an option. I wasn't much into torturing myself.

The girl had frazzled all my nerves from the moment she'd walked in and stuttered her introduction at me. I still didn't know what that was about – she didn't seem to have too much trouble producing a steady stream of words at other times – but the point was, she'd had me.

One look, some stuttering, and I was done for. Stick a fork in me and all that.

Done.

And I had no idea how to act around her.

I was behaving like a teenager with a crush – no, scratch that. I'd been fucking smooth as a teenager, but now I was just pathetic. This barely legal, tiny slip of a girl had stolen my mojo.

Or something.

I had always been smooth. And a flirt. It was all very innocent; I'd never really slept around, and I'd never cheated. Flirting was easy, though. A hug and a kiss; a nickname and a wink; all in good fun. Tanya, for instance, understood – she was like me, and we always tried to one-up each other with silly nicknames. Lately, she'd been Cupcake; I'd been Dollface. Neither of us wanted more than flirty banter and some hugging, though.

Turns out, when I want to flirt with someone I actually _want_ , all previously acquired Smooth Motherfucker skills fly out the window.

Go figure.

I tried to convince myself that it was a good thing that I was incapable of flirting with Bella. I mean, if I wrote down a list of things that made someone the perfect woman for me… she would not be it _at all._

There is no reasonable way I should be attracted to her.

She was horrible at her job, for one. She had no grace at all, literally stumbling through life. She was thin where I liked curvy, and brown where I usually preferred blonde. She loved stupid musicals and ridiculous songs from the 90s and had strong opinions on things I couldn't care less about. She was studying books and I hardly ever read anything besides the newspaper. More importantly, she was _sixteen years my junior_ , only a few years older than my daughter.

I'd tried to think of the age difference as horribly inappropriate, honestly, I had. It just wasn't working.

And she was so out of my league. And of course, she wasn't even single, as proven by the hugs-and-kisses-fest that was probably still happening out front.

And with all that I had listed, I could see that it looked really bad on paper.

But I still wanted her.

She was absolutely gorgeous and totally unaware of it. She had no idea how much it affected me when she danced around with her broom, trying to make the late night sweeping of the floors more bearable. Or when she was biting her lip when concentrating on finding the right bottle of liquor.

I was so far gone I found myself smiling at her horrible memory when serving drinks – as if it was an endearing quality instead of just terribly inefficient. I even enjoyed listening to her sing along with some annoying song from a musical. I'd been insistent all my life that musicals were ridiculous; I'd avoided them since my mother had forced me to watch _The Sound of Music_ as a child.

But for Bella, I found myself fantasizing about taking her on a trip to New York and watch _Wicked_ on Broadway.

I'd even gone as far as looking up ticket prices before realizing how absurd I was being.

I found her rants hilarious and entertaining. She was so direct and open in her opinions and thoughts, so unlike my ex-wife who never shared most of her personality with me, let alone her opinions. For some reason, even listening to her go on and on about literary failures that I'd never read was interesting to me.

It was a good thing I spent most of my days working in the kitchen, unable to see her.

Fate, you cruel bitch. Only weeks before my introduction to the wonderful and weird creature that was Bella Swan, I had decided I wasn't even going to try anymore.

Two failed serious relationships and a handful of more casual and short-term ones. I was thirty-six, worked an average of sixty hours a week, and spent my two days off with my kids – where was I even going to meet anyone? Therefore, I had accepted that I was going to be a lonely, hard-working bachelor.

And then she barged in and knocked the breath out of me, just by being there.

I could make lists all I wanted, I could rationalize that she was too young and that she was taken and all wrong for me, and it wasn't going to change a damn thing.

I was falling for Bella.

Damn it.

Bella had been gone for four days, taking time off to spend with the giant. I'd been amazingly efficient at work, or, more accurately, I barely left work, because I really needed something to do that did not involve thinking about Bella and her boyfriend and the activities they'd be engaging in over the past four days.

She was going to come back today, though. It was Saturday, the busiest day of the week, and the movie theater next door was having a premiere, which meant loads of people doing early dinners – huge dinner rush, but done early. We needed a lot of servers, and no one who was off today had been able to take over Bella's shift.

You wouldn't believe the amount of stealth and planning it took to find out this information without giving away my interest in Bella to the other servers.

Anyway, she was coming back to work in thirty-five minutes. Coincidentally, I was not in a good mood. I kept imagining her face all happy and lovesick, and her talking about her wonderful boyfriend and how happy she was. And then there'd be those hypothetical hickeys she'd have on her neck that she'd try to hide with make-up.

In short, I was going insane with petty jealousy and imaginary scenarios and it was fucking with my mood.

Looking around the kitchen provided me with some distraction as I started correcting Eric's work. It wasn't fair to bitch at Eric, who was probably the hardest working person here. But he was currently the only person near me, and I was the emotional freaking Hulk, turning green for other reasons, and needing an outlet. So it was _really_ hard to stop myself from cursing him.

Eric had been trying to cut the tomatoes, a simple enough job that he did every day, and screwed up on most days. For some reason, his learning curve never seemed to stick. I took a deep breath, remembering this, and chanting my mantra _it will be much more fun to bitch at Mike_ over and over again in my head. It calmed me down enough to show Eric the proper way to use his knife. _Do not yell at Eric. Eric is nice. Wait till you can annoy Mike._

Twenty-three times of repeating my mantra was enough to summon the manager prick himself, in all his greasy glory. Mike was actually wearing suspenders now, his thumbs hooked behind them as they stretched out over his too-small shirt, buttons straining to break free.

"All right, gentlemen." He cleared his throat, conveying his feelings of self-importance.

Mike usually gave some stupid speech at the beginning of the night that served as an excuse to come into the kitchen and steal some fries and breadsticks. He never showed his face during busy hours, which I thought was because he had no idea how a professional kitchen worked and was terrified of all the fire and sharp knives and hot ovens.

"Hey, I am missing someone. Isn't the intern here today?"

"Here, sir," Emmett's voice sounded from behind Mike, making the rotund manager jump like a fat cat being surprised by a cucumber in one of those ridiculous YouTube videos.

Today was looking up already, I thought and snorted at the sight of Mike all riled up.

Emmett had started working here the day after Bella's boyfriend showed up, and he was already a hilarious addition to the kitchen crew. He was friendly and full of ridiculous jokes – like me – and got along well with everyone, except for Mike – again, just like me. We shared a look and immediately knew where today's speech was going.

"Gentlemen!" Mike attempted again. "I trust you all to push yourselves to the limits today, and be the best versions of yourselves, and show the world the greatness of The Rose!"

I tuned him out, looking over his shoulder into the restaurant just as the door opened to reveal Bella walking in, face down, eyes on her feet, taking steady steps with the angriest posture I'd ever seen on her.

Was she angry to be working or was something else going on with her?

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

I didn't have a chance to interrogate Bella until after the kitchen was closed and cleaned. Politeness had made me unable to leave while Mike was yammering about motivation and profit and how important our guests were. By the time he was finally done, the first guests had started to come in and duty called.

Luckily, as predicted, all the patrons had left early, and Emmett and I were out of the kitchen by 10.30 PM. I'd sent Eric home earlier, and Mike had disappeared to god knows where around 8 PM, so it was just us two as we sat down at the bar while the waitresses were still cleaning.

"Why so gloomy, Bella?" Emmett asked as if they were old friends. I envied him his nonchalance, his easy way of talking to everybody, even though I knew I was usually the same, as long as I wasn't talking to Bella.

Bella shot him a nasty look and said nothing.

"Oh, don't even bother, Emmett," Jessica piped up. "She's been that way all night and all I've gotten out of her was 'I don't want to talk about it.' Probably pissed that she's looking at you two losers and not humping the Sports Illustrated model that walked in a few days ago."

Jessica's comment would have offended me if I didn't know her downplaying was completely fake – despite fucking her boss on a regular basis, she was rather relentless in trying to get me to fall for her, or have sex with her, or something, which…just… no.

"Ah, but Bells!" Emmett said cheerily, once again employing a level of familiarity that should not have existed and yet he pulled it off perfectly. "Bossman and I can cheer you up; our jokes are so lame you can't help but laugh – here, listen. Two cannibals are eating a clown. One says to the other: "Does this taste funny to you?""

Bella cocked an eyebrow at him, stopped wiping the bar, but didn't laugh. "That the best you got Emmett? That's a really old joke. I'm having a case of deja moo – I have a feeling I've heard this bull before."

"Ooh, burn, Emmett!" Jess added helpfully, as she made her way to the Back, no doubt on a mission to find our missing manager. Emmett looked at me; somehow silently telling me it was my turn now.

I went through my mental file cabinet of lame jokes just as Bella took a step and stumbled, almost falling into the bar. "Wow, Bella, did you buy your shoes off a drug dealer? I'm not sure what they're laced with, but you've been tripping all day."

Still no smile, just her eyes narrowing at me. "We're really doing a bad joke thing here? I thought I warned you my head was filled with loads of nonsense. Fine. A man goes to see the doctor and says: "Doctor, every time I drink coffee my eye hurts!" And the doctor says, "Next time you drink coffee - take the spoon out first."

"I used to work at a calendar factory," Emmett stated without missing a beat, "I got fired for taking a day off."

"I used to be a doctor, but I had no patience," Bella replied immediately.

"I bought my friend an elephant for his room. He said 'thank you.' I said 'don't mention it.'" I countered.

Finally, one side of her mouth twitched. She rolled her eyes at the ridiculousness of the joke, which I thought was fair.

"What do you call a snobbish criminal walking down the stairs?" Bella asked.

Ah, switching to silly riddles now. Emmett and I stayed silent, waiting for the punchline.

"A condescending con descending."

"Ah man, that was beautiful!" Emmett applauded and cracked up. I couldn't help but laugh; every time I thought a conversation with Bella was the silliest, most ridiculous chat I'd ever had, something happened to top it. And how do we all have so many lame jokes stuck in our heads anyway?

I cleared my throat, shaking off my laughter. "A priest, a rabbi, and a vicar walk into a bar," I started. Bella raised an eyebrow at me, clearly thinking that rabbi-priest-vicar jokes are _never_ funny. "The barman says, ''Is this some kind of joke?''"

It happened – her hand shot up to cover her mouth, her eyes twinkled, and even with her hand hiding most of her face I could see her features changing into a big smile. She shook her head and removed her hand, showing us that beautiful smile of hers.

"All right guys, you got me. I give up. Mind if I join you? I'm all finished up here."

It was fairly common for the staff to end the night with a drink at the bar, but I had expected Bella to want to race home immediately, what with the giant waiting for her and all. It made me happy that she wanted to stay, but it also made me wonder why.

As she sat down with a beer, I decided to ask. "All stupid jokes aside - are you okay, Bella?"

She gave me a sad half-smile. "Sure. Thanks. I – I'll be okay."

Well, that told me nothing at all. "How's the giant?"

"The giant?"

"Uhm, sorry – the big guy who showed up last week was your boyfriend, right?"

"Ah, yes, that's Jake. He flew all the way from Australia to surprise me. Very sweet and romantic." Except that her voice was anything but emotional. I got the feeling that objectively, she thought it was a sweet and romantic thing to do, but she could've done without.

"Are you happy?"

She sighed and looked away for a few seconds, and I watched her closely as she took a sip, trying to read her emotions, and almost laughed out loud when I realized I was trying to do exactly what she said was impossible: reading all sorts of emotions in someone's eyes. I managed not interrupt the silence with inappropriate laughter.

"Sometimes. It's complicated. It's all growing up, growing apart, stupid adultness. It's hard to come to terms with the idea that someone you love is no longer the right person for you, you know?"

I nodded solemnly as if I had any idea about the reality of her relationship with the giant.

"That, and he's a perpetually stoned drug dealer. He bought his plane ticket with drug money. He found a dealer here! In Seattle! Within a day and he's been stoned since. How do you even find a drug dealer in a foreign country _that fast?_ Like, I'm almost impressed."

I almost choked on my beer. Well, that was more the ranting Bella that I knew. She was still sad, so I figured I'd recount some embarrassing memories to cheer her up. "Uh, I wouldn't know. I smoked pot exactly once in my life and that was a friend's stash. It was not a good idea. I ended up puking my guts out at this parking lot, and my friend had to go and find a payphone to call my dad, who then had to pick me up, still sick and stinking of marijuana. Good times."

Bella started laughing. "That is… absolutely horrifying, and a wonderful antidote to the weed-related depression I'm feeling right now. Thank you for that."

"You're welcome, Cookie," I winked at her, which earned me another smile. I did a mental high five with myself and then told my mind to stop being such a ridiculous pussy. From the corner of my eye, I could see Emmett sitting a bit farther down, by now completely cut out of our conversation; I'd barely remembered his existence.

I turned my attention back to Bella as she drank the last bit of her beer. "I should go catch a bus and go home," she sighed, sounding far from happy.

Wait, she took the bus? At 11 PM in dark, cold and rainy Seattle? It was a ten-minute walk to the nearest bus station, and not through a particularly well-lit area. "I hope you have an umbrella," I said, knowing full well that she didn't come in with one. "It's coming down in buckets out there."

"Oh, gahhhh," Bella exclaimed as she glanced outside. "You'd think after all this time, I'd remember to bring an umbrella with me everywhere I go in Seattle, but nope. Yuck."

"Not a big fan of the rain, huh?"

"Meh. I don't _hate_ it. I'm just not necessarily excited about its existence."

"Well, you know what they say. There's no such thing as bad weather – only soft people."

She laughed and slapped my arm. "Oh, that was mean, chef. I'm so insulted," but she was still laughing and clearly anything but offended.

"I'll make it up to you. I have an oversized umbrella and I'm walking the same way anyway. Join me?"

*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

Ten minutes later, we were making our way through the streets of Seattle, sharing one umbrella, my body closer to hers than ever before as we clung together to stay dry.

One day, she may find out that my house is in the exact opposite direction, and that I usually drive my car or motorcycle to work and that in fact, I drove my car today, and questions will arise, but this was heavenly bliss and I didn't care. We were chatting about everything and nothing, about work and school and TV shows and none of it was deep, yet all of it was perfect. Silly quotes and random stories interjected with jumping over puddles.

"My turn for a story," she said cheerily, and I loved how much she'd been smiling the past half hour. "Once there was an ugly barnacle. He was so ugly that everyone died. The end."

"That was…confusing. Tell me you didn't just make that up."

"It's from SpongeBob, doofus. Oh god, you do know what SpongeBob is right? I grew up with this stuff!"

"Well, this is the moment shit's gonna get awkward. I know what Spongebob is, despite not recognizing this wondrous gem of a story, because I used to watch it… with my children."

A beat.

Silence aside from our feet on the sidewalk and the rain hitting every surface.

See?

This is why I shouldn't be interested in Bella. It's always going to be awkward and wrong, this age difference.

"Oh. Right. Right! Because your daughter's not that much younger than I am, right? So of course we would have watched the same stuff, except that it was me as a kid and you as a… parent. Wow. That is awkward. Wait, we can totally make that worse. Let me think. When I started preschool, you had a kid in diapers. When you started high school, my parents were probably only just dating. You probably bought your first car the year I was born." She laughed, loudly, snorted and shook her head wildly; completely amused by something I'd just thought was immeasurably awkward a few moments earlier. I couldn't help but join in – why take things so seriously anyway? It wasn't as if we could help not being born in the same decade.

"I had my first kiss before you could walk," I added.

She laughed louder and so did I.

How did she get rid of all the tension I'd been feeling so quickly, so effortlessly? I turned my head to stare at her, completely conspicuously and nowhere near smooth, but I couldn't help myself; she was still laughing, and she seemed so carefree and happy compared to the angry, depressed girl who'd been working tonight.

We reached the bus station in no time. I, of course, didn't have to take a bus now – I was going to have to walk back to The Rose where I'd parked my car - but I was glad I'd gotten to spend a little more time with Bella.

Especially when said time was spent in the constant physical proximity of each other.

"Well, here we are."

"Yeah."

"So."

"My bus will be here in a minute or two. Yours?"

"I'm um… going to walk a bit further."

"Walk?"

"Um. Yeah. Don't worry about it. I'll see you to your bus."

"Um. Okay."

Thirty minutes of friendly teasing, talking, laughing and joking, and now we had regressed to unrefined bumbling in a matter of seconds.

 _Still no smooth motherfucker in sight_.

Bella's bus came around the corner and opened its doors right next to where we were waiting on the sidewalk. A surprising amount of people were flitting about, moving from street to bus or from bus to street, or going nowhere at all, but we were on an island of two and the rest was just…background noise.

"Well, that's me. I should go. Thanks for…the umbrella. For cheering me up. And for knowing just as many stupid jokes as I do." However, she made no move to step away from me, or perhaps more likely, from the dry spot beneath the protection of the umbrella.

"Hey, then at least we have something in common." I winked at her. "And you're welcome. You deserve a ton of laughter and happiness."

She was closer than ever before – not just walking next to me under the umbrella, but facing me, hands touching arms, her face so close to mine I could feel her breath. A sad smile graced her face. Unable to restrain myself from taking just a little bit more, I reached up to touch her cheek, tucking a lock of hair behind her ear.

Her mouth opened, her front teeth trapping her bottom lip as we looked into each other's eyes, my own gaze wandering towards those teeth and the lip they were holding, and back to those chocolate eyes. She'd been right – I couldn't read a myriad of emotions in them, but I felt as if I could project mine through my eyes, regardless, somehow hoping she'd be able to understand what my eyes were trying to say.

Either that worked, or she could read my mind, or maybe she was just on the same page as I was.

But the next thing I knew my lips were on hers and my hand was on her lower back; her fingers were in my hair, and our tongues touched, and our hands were roaming everywhere, touching and exploring, as my eyes closed while the rest of the world ceased to exist, and –

"Jesus, get a fucking room!" Someone shouted, interrupting, and we jumped apart. And God did I wish I could read her emotions in her eyes now because we were still silent, staring at each other, and she was touching her lip and we were both panting. I didn't know what she was feeling or thinking, but every part of me needed that information.

"Uhm," she cleared her throat. "My bus is going to leave soon. I gotta go."

And she turned around and jumped on the bus, which promptly closed its doors and drove away, leaving me standing in the rain, two fingers touching my lips like they'd just been graced with a magic presence – which I guess they had – and it took me ten minutes of standing around, dumbly, unmoving, before I managed to shake out of my post-kiss-stupor and start walking my way back to The Rose.

 **A/N Woosh progress!**

 **I hope you liked Edward's thoughts. Please let me know if you did (or didn't). It means the world to me.**

 **Things that surprise me: not a lot of hating me for hating 50 shades of grey, and not a lot of waitresses present.**

 **Share your thoughts please? We're almost at 100 reviews, and while some get thousands, 100 is a pretty good goal for this first-time-newbie-author at least.**

 **Fic rec today: Rising Dream, Falling Star by MrsShorthand (see favorites) is a story that is just so intricate and beautiful and I envy her for writing *real* people, you know? Three-dimensional characters, with problems and insecurities and everything. It takes a while for each new chapter to go up, which in this case means every time a new chapter goes up I want to reread the whole thing. Yeah, that good. Go!**


	7. Chapter 7: Breaking up

**Chapter 7**

 **Definitely moving way too fast**

* * *

 **Hi! This took a while. Next one will probably take a while, too.**

 **Thanks go out to my beta Fran and everyone who has taken the time to review. You all make my day. Really.**

 **Now, let's get rid of Jake and get on with the story, shall we? We're back to Bella's mind now.**

* * *

 _Oh my god oh my god._

 _Oh god._

 _Oh no._

 _What did I do?_

I was sitting on the midnight bus, on my way home, and nearing a panic attack.

 _Alice. I need Alice._

I fumbled around in my coat pockets finding my phone and frantically clicking around the touchscreen to call my best friend.

"Hey, Bells," she answered, sounding a little more raspy than usual. "What's up? I'm, um… a little ah! Um… busy… right no-ahhhh!"

I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath. Of course, she'd be wrapped up in her boy toy when I had to talk to her. The girl was a total nymphomaniac; this definitely wasn't the first time I'd called and interrupted… something.

"Listen, Alice, normally I'd apologize and hang up so you could continue your sexy time with Jasper – which, by the way, is completely obvious right now – but I really, _really_ need my friend, so can you climb off him for a second? Please?"

"All right, all right." I heard some shuffling sounds and some manly groaning in the background; Jasper must not have been too pleased. "How'd you know I was on top, anyway?"

"Because you would only be able to see who's calling while you're riding him," I answered, noticing that some other passengers in the bus were starting to stare at me. "Tragically, we have had this conversation before, Alice. I know far too much about your sex life."

"Fair enough," Alice quipped cheerfully. "So what's up?"

"I kissed him."

"Kissed who? Jake? As much as I wanna say 'eww' to that, doesn't it kind of make sense?"

"No, Alice. I mean yeah, I kissed Jake before I left home today. But then, I made out with the chef when I left work. I am going insane. Help me." Four pairs of eyes looked up from their cellphones and unabashedly started to follow my side of the conversation. I turned away from the phone for a second. "Okay, listen, peeps, I get that I'm providing your nightly entertainment, but I'm having a personal crisis right now and I'd appreciate if you all went back to your cellphones and let me be, 'kay? Thanks." One or two had the decency to look slightly ashamed, as all of them turned their heads the other way.

Alice was silent for a beat.

"The chef?"

"Yeah."

"The Really Hot Old Dude?"

"That's the one."

"Wow, you go girl! Do you think I can google his picture? What was his name again? I want to see the hotness."

Sometimes, keeping Alice on track in a conversation was like trying to train a fly – pointless, tiring and filled with never-ending buzzing.

" _Focus_ , Alice. The point is that I am literally on my way home right now. To Jake. Who is in my house. And is my _boyfriend._ "

"Oh! Right. So… dump Jake!" Alice chirped, a little too quickly for my liking. I sighed. For all that I'd tried, I could never make Alice understand that Jake was a really good guy, who was sweet to me, and kind, and occasionally romantic.

She only saw the perpetually stoned drug dealer with slightly controlling tendencies who was rather anti-social in any situation where he had to talk to other people.

Huh.

Maybe she had a point.

Maybe sweet and nice _to me_ was just not going to be enough anymore. Maybe if I had to keep defending my boyfriend to other people with the argument 'he's not all bad', he really wasn't the right guy for me. Maybe I deserved someone who was better than that. Maybe -

"Bells? You still there?" Alice's voice shook me out of my daydreaming and life-changing decision-making process.

"Um, yeah. I think… I think you're right. Reached my stop. Gotta go!"

*.*.*.*

I ran all the way from the bus stop to my crappy apartment.

Granted, that was only a couple hundred feet, but still. I'd had a freaking epiphany and there was no time to waste.

I barged through the door and my eyes immediately found Jake – asleep on the couch, head oddly positioned, drooling on his Stay Blazed t-shirt. The Big Lebowski was playing on the TV, the butt of a joint in the ashtray I had told him to use _outside_ only. A small bag filled with weed lay opened on the side table, next to five, most likely empty, beer cans. The smell of pot was so strong I was sure I'd get high from just standing there.

Jesus fucking Christ, what a cliché this guy had become.

How blind had I been that it took making out with Really Hot Old Dude, as Alice had named him, to figure things out?

"Jake!" I shook his shoulder.

His mouth opened and closed with a smacking sound, clearly trying to get rid of his cotton mouth – I'd seen that before enough times to know what he was experiencing – and it took another attempt at shaking his large frame before he woke up enough to look at me, clearly disoriented, the whites of his eyes almost completely red and his pupils comically large.

Part of me wanted to shout out "I've had an epiphany! You suck and I'm breaking up with you!" and I realized at that moment that not only was that not the way to handle things, I hadn't actually thought about the words I _would_ use. Fortunately, I had another few minutes to think about it, as Jake had fallen asleep again.

 _Jake, I'm so done with your shit. Bye, bye, bye._

 _Jake, it's not me. It's you._

 _Jake, when's the next flight back to Australia? Because you're gonna be on it._

Oh fuck, what were we going to do with Jake's flight? He wasn't supposed to leave until three days from now, and it wasn't like he could stay somewhere else for the time being. Apparently, the drug dealing business had only been good for buying a ticket, and not much cash was left.

Sigh.

It _was_ really nice of him to surprise me with a visit. He was really a sweet man – even if he was so fucking crunked he wouldn't wake up. Maybe I shouldn't brea-

My phone buzzed with a new message and I took a break from trying to wake the snoring mess to read it.

 _Don't doubt yourself too much hon – you know you're making the right decision. You can do so much better! Xxx Alice_

As usual – whenever she was not in the middle of sex – Alice was scarily instinctual. Or she knew me well enough to know that I'd be agonizing over this shit.

I sighed. Time to bite the bullet and let Jake go.

*.*.*.*

If I believed in karma, I would've said that it was biting my ass for breaking up with Jake.

There was no earlier flight back to Australia, which meant that we had to cohabitate post-break-up for three full days, with me getting more and more agitated while Jake was drowning in weed to escape the heartbreak. Except that his stoned ass was a lot worse than his rare sober moments, so his methods of escaping reality were highly questionable and extremely ineffective.

Amazingly, I had no shifts at any of my jobs and, therefore, did not have a valid reason to escape Jake's company. Cohabitating with my ex turned out to be exactly as awkward as you'd expect. There may or may not have been some awkward farewell sex involved, which was mediocre enough to never think about again. The entire time between break-up and final goodbye was really fucking depressing, which was elevated to even more extreme levels because of some epically nasty PMS on my part.

Both dropping Jake off at the airport and finally getting my period were sad occurrences that also brought relief - until I walked away from Sea-Tac and was instantly splashed by a speeding car driving through a puddle. I then had to ride the bus home while caked in cold, muddy water. Other passengers kept looking at me as if they suspected I was a crazy homeless person while I just hoped I could get my coat properly cleaned when I got home – it's not as if I had a spare one lying around.

I'd planned to get a cup of coffee at the Starbucks near my bus stop, but decided that while rocking the homeless look I should probably skip the cappuccino, and besides – my regular schedule would resume today, and having to take a shower severely messed up my planning. I had exactly thirty-six minutes after opening my front door before I had to be on the bus again, to do two hours of tutoring followed by eight hours of waitressing… and Edward.

I was doing a pretty good job at not thinking about Edward and how possibly uncomfortable seeing him again would be as I took a quick shower and changed into clean clothes.

I was definitely not thinking about Edward as I dug up my favorite, curve-hugging skinny jeans and a soft blue sweater that I didn't often wear because the V-neck cleavage was a bit… much. But of course, I wasn't wearing that for Edward – first of all, I had _just_ put my ex-boyfriend on a plane, like, an hour ago, and second of all, most of the time I would spend in Edward's company I'd be wearing my work clothes anyway.

So yeah. Definitely not dressing up for Edward.

It also had nothing to do with Edward that I attempted to put on some make-up, taking the time to re-do my left eye's eyeliner seven times to get the damn cat eye to match up with the one on the right.

Symmetry, thy fickle bitch.

It took a while for me to realize that I would first spend two hours in the company of my tutoring kids – all little hormone bombs between fourteen and eighteen years old - as well as my notably creepy coworker James, while dressed in my look-at-me-I'm-sexy clothes. Whoops.

Usually, I enjoyed my tutoring job. It thrilled me to help kids with their homework, not by telling them what the answer was, but by helping them figure out how to get there by themselves. The best days were those I helped one of the kids who were really struggling figure out just how to understand a Shakespeare sonnet or a grammatical structure in Latin that I didn't quite understand myself.

Today was not that day.

Today was a day filled with sixteen kids on the brink of getting simultaneous colds; coughing, sniffling and blowing their noses without reprieve, and the constant sound of mucus going… places… was driving me absolutely bonkers.

One kid stared at my cleavage so hard he didn't even notice a booger coming out of his nose until I waved a napkin in front of his face.

And then there was James, who had suddenly perfected the art of simultaneously explaining math to a high school freshman and staring at me from across the room.

There was winking involved on his part, shuddering on mine. Eventually, he graduated to crude hand gestures and mouthing words at me. I was a lousy lip reader but with silent words and gestures combined, even I could make out the ' _you – me – wanna fuck later'_ that he oh-so-romantically propositioned me with.

Was this entire day going to be filled by grossness in every possible way, shape and form?

I hightailed my ass out of there as soon as my time was up. Part of me wanted to slow down and wallow in my anxiety over working with Edward again, but most of me just wanted to escape James, hoping he'd get the message.

It only _really_ hit me as I jumped on the bus that would take me to The Rose.

 _I'd made out with Edward_.

Much older, possibly married? Head chef at my job.

I'd freaked out and ran, and I hadn't talked to him since – three days ago.

In dealing with getting Jake out my life, I hadn't really considered what I wanted from Edward. Or what Edward wanted from me.

Maybe he _was_ married and just wanted an affair, in which case – hell no. Maybe a casual sex thing? That would get uncomfortable if we had to work together. Maybe all these girls he tended to hug and cuddle at work were also 'his', and I had just been initiated into a secret crazy-ass harem cult.

Or, you know, I may have shot straight to overthinking.

There was really no way that seeing him again tonight would be anything less than awkward, and we wouldn't even be able to talk privately with all our nosy gossiping coworkers flitting about. Although, considering my confusion, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe having some more time to think about things would clear my head a little bit.

But as I stepped through the doors of The Rose, I noticed that there were no gossiping coworkers anywhere around. I was early, the place was still officially closed, and the only other people who ever showed up early were Edward and Mike – and the latter rarely left his office.

The kitchen was all the way in the back of the narrow restaurant, mostly hidden from view by dark wooden tables, outdated lamps, and fake chandeliers. And yet, my eyes were immediately drawn to the figure standing next to the ovens, the sleeves of his chef's coat rolled up, a whisk in his hand, looking like he was a model posing for stock photos instead of an actual chef.

All my overthinking flew out the window as my feet dragged me over to him.

Edward said nothing, keeping his eyes on mine as he waited for me to join him in the kitchen. He stood, stock still as I stopped in front of him, both of us silent, and all ranting aside, I now very much hated the fact that I couldn't decipher what his eyes were saying, but I could understand his posture. He was incredibly tense, jaw locked, teeth clenched, fingers digging into his arms.

I sighed, worked up and nervous. Thinking about intentions and harems was suddenly not important. He was too beautiful, and I knew I was powerless to resist him, in any way he'd want me. If, in fact, he wanted me at all.

He broke the silence. "You ran."

"Yeah. Sorry about that."

"Did you tell your boyfriend what happened?"

"No."

I saw his Adam's apple bob as he swallowed and looked down at his feet.

"I did break up with him, though," I continued, and the change in him was immediate – his head shot up, eyes finding mine, his face relaxing slightly. Even the most oblivious person had to see the truth of what I doubted before – he definitely did want me.

"Are you married?" I blurted out. Took me long enough; I'd only been wondering that since my first day at the restaurant.

"Of course not." he looked confused. "I've been divorced for five years."

"Do you have a harem of girls at your disposal?"

More confusion, but I guess I couldn't blame him for not understanding the way my mind works. "What? No! How did you even…?" he trailed off.

"Um. Well. You do a lot of… touching… hugging, flirting and kissing… with a lot of beautiful girls… I just thought…"

"That I had a _harem_?" He burst out laughing, shaking his head. "Bella, I swear, your mind is the most wondrous place."

"Yeah, well," was my snappy retort, because I was clearly an eight-year-old impersonating an adult.

"Sorry, it's just – okay. I like flirting, okay? I don't have any other kind of relationship with any of those girls. Promise."

I considered this for a second. "So why did you never flirt with me then? Was it a game?" My mind immediately jumped to conclusions that read like movie plots like She's All That and Ten Things I Hate About Youbut without the falling in love parts – just the bits where the guy screws over the girl for a bet. I'm immediately convinced of the truth of this scenario as if there couldn't possibly be any other explanation, and I feel my eyes tear up as I ready myself for the emotional reveal where he explains his reasons for taking the bet and messing with me, and I idly wonder if there are hidden cameras anywhere and – oh, wait, overthinking.

I should get back to reality.

Edward sighed and cupped my face with his hand, calloused fingers touching my cheek. "It's not a game, Bella."

He adds nothing else for now, and I can't handle the silence, so I do what I do best – blurting out random things. "Your fingers feel like sandpaper."

His movement stills and he chuckles. "Yeah, that happens in my line of work. Look," he shows me the inside of his arm, which is absolutely covered with clean, red lines. They're all the same size – about two inches, some a bit longer – and are scattered all over his lower arm. Some are fading, almost healed, but many of them look brand new and painful.

"What the hell is that?" I ask, suppressing theories of self-harm and suicide attempts.

"Like I said. This is what happens in my line of work… I get burned a lot. Literally."

Maybe if I hadn't skipped Starbucks, I would have understood, but as it was, I was still not clearheaded enough to follow. "Huh?"

He chuckled again, and moved to open the oven, mimicking the motion of taking out a dish, and I could see where his arms would hit the hot racks and leave a burn mark.

"Oh. I get it," I mumbled, and I couldn't help but think that we had strayed far away from the original topic of conversation.

"I burn my fingers a lot, too. There isn't enough time to be more careful with hot plates and pans, and honestly, I don't even feel it anymore. But my fingers aren't soft, and my arms are always going to look like this. Well, not quite as bad as this, I suppose. I've been… distracted the last few days."

"Oh," I muttered again, and then "Oh!" as I realized what he meant – was he distracted because I wasn't there? Because he was thinking about me?

He smiled that beautiful crooked smile that turned my insides to goo, and his sandpaper fingers again touched my cheek. "I like you, Bella. Or - maybe like isn't the right word. It's borderline obsessive, really. Quite unhealthy. I started making lists, you know. Of why I shouldn't. And I'm sad to say that it's a pretty long list, and none of it makes any difference in how I feel about you."

"Me too. The lists thing. Why I shouldn't… but it doesn't change anything."

His face lit up, a beautiful smile gracing his features. "Yeah? You like me?" He sounded so coy, almost like a shy teenager, and that combined with his gorgeous looks made it easy to forget how much older he was. I realized how silly the list thing was.

It didn't matter if things looked bad on paper when the reality felt so overwhelmingly _right_.

"Yeah, I do," I smiled back. "But – can we take it slow, please? I've been single for all of sixty-six hours. It's a little overwhelming."

The look he gave me was so intense I was almost surprised my panties didn't melt right off and gave a whole new dimension to the word 'smoldering'.

"Anything you want, Bella. I'll be here," he said in a low, sultry voice, and that was the extent of my self-control; my lips were on his before I consciously made the decision to do so.

He responded eagerly. His hand cupped the back of my neck, fingers running through my hair, as his tongue opened my lips to deepen the kiss. His other arm found my lower back and pulled me closer as my hands roamed everywhere as if I could soak up his essence by touching his shoulders, his arms, his hair, and those amazingly sharp cheekbones.

He released my lips and I was pushed backward until I reached the counter, where he pulled me up effortlessly, putting me down on the same spot where he'd be preparing meals. Gently he moved between my legs and a groan escaped my chest as I watched him move closer. Neither of us cared about breaking all the hygiene rules.

This, this was passion, and I could do nothing but _feel_ as we molded together again. His hand found the lower edge of my sweater and moved up, touching my bare back, and our mouths connected as if we had no need to breathe. My legs moved of their own accord, embracing him, ankles linked behind his back, and if it had been possible to pull him even closer, I would have.

His lips left mine only to find my neck, sucking softly in the most sensitive of places, and my fingernails dug into his shoulder blades as I could do nothing but whimper pitifully and cling to him.

"Bella," he breathed heatedly, making my heart melt even more.

Heaven.

This was on such an entirely different level from anything I had ever done with Jake. Completely different universes.

The sound of Jessica's laughter suddenly interrupted us, reminding us that we'd been dry humping in the middle of a professional kitchen. At work. "Ha! Well, now you definitely can't complain about catching everyone else anymore, Bella!" she cackled from the door opening as she turned around and walked away.

I took a moment to look at Edward. I was both embarrassed and on the verge of breaking out in laughter and I tried not to give in to either of those. We were still completely entangled; my legs wrapped around his hips, my hands on his back, and his on mine.

"Well, she has a point," Edward laughed.

I cleared my throat. "So. Um. Taking it slow?"

Edward nodded seriously before we both gave in and giggled like little kids.

"Anything you want, Bella."

* * *

 **A/N: Sooooooo...**

 **Jake's gone. Are you happy? Or are you at this point merely thinking 'Jake who?' what with all the public kissing and (yet again) interrupting?**

 **Thank you for reading! (Please review? ;))**


	8. Chapter 8: Rose

**Looks Bad on Paper, chapter 8**

 **Shorter than planned, but at least it's something ;)**

 **I don't own, blah blah.**

 **Thanks to Fran for beta'ing. You rock.**

 ***.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.**

There was a wooden bench tucked in a dark corner of the restaurant, right next to the kitchen entrance, with a plastic table that had seen better days. This corner was used by the staff for breaks and quick dinners – apparently, it was deemed rather unhealthy to work from 2 PM to midnight without getting nutrition at some point. It was out of sight from the restaurant, but you could see into the kitchen perfectly.

I found myself sitting there, eating a simple Macaroni Alfredo, staring at Edward and Emmett as they flitted about, mixing ingredients and cutting slabs of meat, throwing things into pots and frying pans at a furious pace. They worked quietly. The dinner rush hadn't even started yet, so this was more of a warming up for the main event of the night: hours of fast-paced, high-pressure work, no room for mistakes, and, as I'd learned recently, high chance of injuries. While the half-open kitchen was in the back of the restaurant, it still didn't provide the opportunity for any Gordon Ramsey-esque language use. In fact, I don't think I've ever heard Edward curse or yell, although I knew he was a pretty strict boss.

I was very much enjoying the view of Edward, the way his arms looked with the sleeves of his chef's coat rolled up, and the way his hair was sticking out in every direction.

That last bit was my fault – it was only an hour ago that Jess caught our make out session. We had instantly disentangled and started work, which meant that we hadn't had a chance to talk about what was happening between us. All the making out and groping was not my definition of taking things slow – but it felt right to me; so did the speed of things really matter? Were we even headed toward a relationship or was it just a physical thing? I didn't know.

It was a little hard to concentrate on details like that while staring at Edward, though. I may have sighed and whimpered a bit like a little schoolgirl with a crush on a member of _One Direction_ \- _oooh he's just soooo dreamy! -_ But I couldn't help myself. It was easy to forget that it had only been half a day since I put Jake on a plane; I was completely caught up in the most overwhelming and incredible whirlwind ever. There wasn't much in my head that did not revolve around the extremely hot chef I was currently staring at and the things he could do with his lips.

 _Hmmm, Edward kisses._

My daydreaming was abruptly interrupted by a modelesque blonde girl that suddenly walked past me, in the direction of the kitchen.

"Hey, lady!" I tried to say without spitting out bits of macaroni. "You can't go in there!"

The blonde paused and turned around to face me. She raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow, put her hands on her hips and just stared me down. I felt rather insignificant; here I was, probably drooling pasta sauce, my hair still messy from the making out, and my chin, red and itchy from Edward's stubble. And there she was, this stranger with completely straightened, long blonde hair – not a single hair out of place – and make-up that looked professionally done. Actually, the entirety of this girl viewed like an airbrushed Vogue picture instead of a real-life person.

I wasn't sure what to do with the silent attitude, and didn't get a chance anyway – she just turned around and barged into the kitchen.

Well, that was weird.

Who was this girl anyway? Why the hell did she walk into the kitchen so close to the dinner rush, and why did she feel she was allowed? I'd never seen her before. I was sure she didn't work here – she looked a little too young for that, maybe a few years younger than me.

Oh, crap.

Please let that not be…

I glanced in Edward's direction and realized the truth. Edward and the blonde were hugging and smiling.

Of course, the perfect specimen of teenage beauty was the offspring of the perfect specimen of a ruggedly handsome man.

And I'd just called her 'hey, lady' and told her she couldn't go see her dad.

Edward met my gaze and said something to the girl I now realized was his _daughter_ , and my horror grew as I saw her turn around, both of them walking in my direction.

Oh no, oh no.

He wasn't going to…

"Hey, Bella – have you met my daughter Rosalie?"

Yep, he did.

 _Gulp._

There was no way to make it out of this conversation with all my dignity intact, so I figured I might as well face the music and get it over with quickly.

How to salvage this?

I stood up and shook her hand. "Yeah, hi. Sorry about… I didn't realize you were… you know. Edward's daughter."

She tilted her head slightly and raised that damn eyebrow again, but spoke with a surprisingly friendly tone that came across as rather fake to me, but it was better than humiliating me for my faux pas in front of her father. "Hi! Yeah, I understand. It's no problem, really."

I let out a far too noticeable sigh, relieved that the worst was over, and started to move back into a sitting position.

"Bella's become very important to me, Rosalie."

My eyes shot up to his in shock.

Oh no, he didn't. _Noooo_. He did not just say that!

I mean… I liked hearing it. A lot. It meant that perhaps this thing did go beyond the physical attraction – but I was nowhere near ready for an introduction to his family, let alone his daughter. I hadn't even quite come to terms yet with the fact that she was only a few years younger than I was, and now this?

Rosalie looked just as surprised as I felt. I'm sure Edward could feel both of our _what the fuck_ stares poking daggers into him, and he backtracked quickly, adorably.

"Um. I mean… what I mean is, I may have spoken far too early – but um. One day, perhaps, Bella will be. Um. Important in my life. And I- I just thought that even this early, perhaps … a more distinguished introduction was necessary to avoid possible future … awkwardness. And … I did not realize just how uncomfortable this conversation would get." He frowned and pinched the bridge of his nose, clearly frustrated by the lack of eloquence in his speech. "Yeah, never mind. We'll do this again sometime in the future."

"Oh my gosh, Dad." Rosalie rolled her eyes. "I didn't know you were quite this awkward. I haven't seen you with so little mojo since the Bitch left."

"Who's the Bitch?" I interrupted because I couldn't _not_ ask.

"My ex-wife," Edward stated simply. This confused me more.

"So you call your mother the Bitch?" Did I understand this correctly?

"Ha-ha, no!" Rosalie laughed. "The Bitch isn't my mom. The Bitch is the one that came _after_ my mom."

"Huh?" There were no more words to voice my confusion, and I looked at Edward for an answer, but he just stared back with a sheepish grin, as if that explained anything.

That was the exact moment that this entire conversation became far too surreal for me. I realized I didn't know anything about Edward, his history, his children, anything. He'd been married _twice_? Were there more kids? Was he even more of a serial monogamist than I was? What the hell was going on?

So many questions, and at this point, not a single opportunity to get some answers. I couldn't very well enact the Spanish Inquisition with his daughter right there. I silently summoned all the telepathic powers I had, to communicate to Edward just how overwhelmed I was by all this.

Edward was not a telepathic communicator, apparently, and we stood in awkward silence, none of us knowing how to progress from here.

"Hey boss, I checked everywhere, but we're definitely out of sweet potatoes!" Emmett's holler sounded throughout the kitchen as he stepped out of the walk-in fridge and into our line of sight. He promptly came to a standstill when he spotted our silent trio, uneasiness radiating off all of us.

The quick pace of the kitchen work I had observed only ten minutes ago was nowhere to be seen; an almost statue-like tableau put in its place, the four subjects still and silent as if posing for a painting. We were one whoopee cushion away from being slapstick material.

I was never known for my diplomatic talents, and I was certain that I was not going to be able to help the situation by opening my mouth, so I stood there and just looked at the other three.

Edward seemed embarrassed and looked like he was trying to find some words and failing. He was staring at the floor as if that offered an escape.

Emmett and Rosalie, however, were staring at each other, and it was Emmett who finally, _finally_ broke the silence by clearing his throat as he unsuccessfully tried to smooth out his apron after running his hand through his hair.

Uh oh. I was torn between wanting to warn him of the impending apocalyptic conversation he was surely planning and wanting to watch the train wreck.

Indecision decided for me.

"Hello, gorgeous! Name's Emmett. Are you my appendix? Because I don't know how you work, but this feeling in my stomach makes me want to take you out." He smirked at Rosalie and did a little bow.

Edward's head snapped up, suddenly very much aware of the conversation, eyes wide and horrified.

Rosalie, however, clearly did not need her father, and copied the 'I'm-not-impressed' stance she'd showed me earlier. "I'm an appendix? Because that would make me completely unimportant yet possibly painful and life threatening. Think about it a little more and ask yourself - is that really the way you wanna start this? I mean, it's a creative pick-up line, but still … _that's_ the one you're going for?"

Emmett, to his credit, didn't look too heartbroken and just chuckled. "As you wish, my fair lady. Ahem." He stood up a little straighter and again cleared his throat. "Are you the SATs? Because I'd do you for three hours and forty-five minutes … with a ten minute break in the middle for snacks."

To my utter surprise, Rosalie actually seemed rather charmed by this horrific display of crude teenage wooing, but Edward had by now had completely snapped out of his daze of embarrassment.

Train wreck, T-minus 2 seconds.

"Emmett…" Edward's normally smooth voice sounded raw; almost animalistic, and I was sure he was seconds away from actively growling.

"Yea boss?"

Oh, bless you, Emmett, for being so blinded by the beauty of Rosalie that you don't even see what's happening.

"This is Rosalie..." Edward added, still sounding more like a grizzly bear than a human.

"A beautiful name for a beautiful lady," Emmett purred and took another little bow, holding out his hand like a 19th-century gentleman wanting to kiss a woman's hand.

Instead, Rosalie's hand flew up, covering her mouth, attempting unsuccessfully to stop giggles from escaping. She was clearly enjoying this.

"Emmett…" Edward's voice sounded lethal. "Rosalie is my daughter. She is also sixteen years old.

Move.

Now."

Emmett may have been a little slow, but to his credit, this message landed quickly, and the shock on his face was so comical that both Rosalie and I let out a loud laugh at the same time.

"Right! Oh, crap. I'm sorry! I didn't mean it – well – I did! She's beautiful – you're beautiful, Rosalie – and um. It was really nice to meet you. I gotta go and work … my boss – well you know my boss. Okay. Shutting up now. Bye, Rosalie!" Emmett stuttered and fled the scene like Roadrunner – except that the only way to escape the kitchen was past us, and he'd run the other way, where the only door was the one he had come in from: the walk-in fridge.

We watched, incredulous, as Emmett disappeared behind the thick steel wall and actually stayed in the fridge, and then Rosalie and I, once again simultaneously, burst out laughing, while Edward still looked rather thunderous.

Rosalie and I exchanged glances in between our full-out belly laughs, and somehow, thank you, Emmett – I knew that were on the same wavelength and that we'd be okay. Whether it be as casual acquaintances or me as her … oh god the word alone – stepmother of sorts. That was a thought quickly hidden in the depths of my mind, though, as I was nowhere near ready to consider a future that distant.

Rosalie shook off her laughter and seemed to transform into a different persona, one that was innocent and cute instead of confident and womanly. "Oh, Daddy," she cooed – _cooed_ , I tell you – and stroked his upper arm. "Don't worry so much. I'm with Royce, remember? And nothing's going to happen to your little girl. But be nice to Emmett, he seems rather afraid of you. Okay? I have to go. I love you, Daddy! Bye!" And with a kiss to his cheek and a wave in my direction, she walked out, leaving me stunned and Edward miraculously more relaxed.

A teddy bear calmed by the genius of his daughter's innocence act.

I was definitely in awe.

I turned to Edward. "Shall we free Emmett from the fridge before he gets hypothermia?"

*.*.*.*.*

 **A/N Thanks for reading. A lot of you came my way from Archy's fic, which is awesome. Hi & welcome, hope you like :) I'm going to pay it forward and recommend another fic, called Just This Side of Crazy by deviant bamboo (it's in my favorites). It's different, in the best way. **

**Also, I changed my FF username, in case you're confused. I'm also on fb with this exact name (come find me), thought it looked better than 'wildlotus1'.**


	9. Chapter 9: Revenge

**Chapter 9 - Bring on the theatrics**

 **Hi! It's been a while, and I apologize for the delay. I participated in the Straight Thru the Heart contest with a silly story called Flushed. If you haven't read it yet I suggest you do so soon, because it's since been reported by the Fanfiction police for containing (gasp!) Very Mature Content.**

 **I don't own, blah blah.**

 **Beta note: my awesome beta Fran is taking a vacation so for this chapter I had the wonderful Fyrebirch, Chocl8lips, and Snow Swan help me out. Boy, do I mess up with punctuation.**

 ***.*.***

"I apologize, boss! Sir! Truly!" came Emmett's muffled voice from inside the refrigerator.

"And…?" Edward asked, eyebrow raised.

"And… can I please come out now?"

The sound of giggles and chuckles filled the air. The kitchen had filled up - Jessica, Bree, Tanya and Tyler had joined Edward and me to bask in the joys of unadulterated _schadenfreude_. We were all enjoying this just a little too much. Emmett had been groveling, begging and apologizing for the past few minutes, and I knew Edward would let him out soon; we weren't cruel enough to block the fridge exit for too long. Edward wasn't actually angry at Emmett, I could tell from his barely held in laughter - but then, Emmett didn't know that. Hence the groveling and pleading.

For me, it was mostly an amazing distraction from the clusterfuck that meeting Rose had been, and the "she's important to me" that kept bouncing around in my mind. I knew I had to figure out just what I wanted from Edward, what he wanted from me, and what the hell I'd meant by 'taking it slow' anyway.

If I thought about this too much I'd just end up back with my - and his - list of 'why this is probably a bad idea'. If I didn't think at all, I'd probably forget about this slow pace we'd agreed upon and just permanently attach myself to this gorgeous specimen of a man with super glue or something.

"And…?" Edward repeated to the steel fridge door.

A beat of silence, and then Emmett's desperate voice called out, "And I will be on my best behavior toward you and your beautiful daughter from now on. Promise!"

More chuckling followed. Edward sighed and addressed us, speaking so softly it was almost a whisper. "All right, guys, I'm going to let him out. Rules for the rest of the day: I hate his guts, and I'm like the Don fucking Corleone of this place, and you're terrified for his fate now that he's insulted my precious daughter. 'Kay?" He grinned, and I had to mentally applaud him for this evil practical joke he was pulling on the poor intern.

As the wait staff scattered and disappeared to do some actual work, Edward opened the heavy fridge door that had held Emmett prisoner.

Emmett was a big guy - I mean, physically, he was rather intimidating. But the Emmett that shuffled out of the fridge was a tiny slip of a submissive man. He muttered 'thanks, boss', kept his eyes focused on the floor and quickly made his way to his work station. I almost felt sorry for him - except I knew that only a few days ago, he had hidden all of Edward's professional knives and substituted them for rubber ones. He had also gotten a hold of Bree's phone and changed her ringtone to some very loud death metal song, and poor Bree just wasn't quite smart enough to figure out how to change it back. Emmett was the king of pranks, and it didn't matter to him that he'd only been here for a few weeks.

Revenge was clearly due.

I had never had a night at work quite as funny as this one. Jessica kept looking at Emmett whenever she passed by, concern etched on her face. Tanya asked him, several times, "Are you _sure_ you're okay?" with a side glance at Edward. She was a pretty good actress; I could almost believe she was genuinely worried Emmett wasn't going to make it out alive.

Edward played his part with fervor and barely concealed glee. Emmett was too scared to look at him anyway, so a mischievous grin was plastered on his face most of the time. He chopped all the vegetables just a little too enthusiastically, banged pots and pans around just a little too loudly and made a great show of sharpening his knives right in front of Emmett. He was Gordon Ramsay personified when giving orders to Emmett, and mother Theresa when politely asking Tyler to assist him.

I idly wondered what Rosalie would say to her dad if she found out about this, but I was too entertained to give it much thought. I mostly stayed away from the kitchen - or close enough to hear what was going on, but far enough that my lack of acting skills wouldn't give the whole thing away.

"Emmett, whip the cream, stat. Table four is almost ready for dessert," Edward's stern voice ordered. The fact that there wasn't actually anyone seated at table four gave away that something was up, but I had tables to serve so I couldn't stay and watch. When I passed by the kitchen ten minutes later, Emmett was still furiously whipping cream in a bowl, and nothing had changed to its consistency.

Edward caught my confused look and closed the distance between us and whispered in my ear, "It's cooking cream, not whipped cream. Wanna bet how long it takes him to figure it out?"

I covered my mouth with my hand to stop the giggles from escaping. Evil mastermind Edward was a fun one. A completely different person from the insecure one I'd seen earlier today, but, I realized: I liked both of them.

*.*.*

At ten p.m., Emmett draped his giant body over a barstool and laid his head down on the bar in front of me.

"What's up, Em? You're done early," I said cheerfully, like I hadn't witnessed the ultimate pranking of Emmett McCarty for the past few hours. It had been a very quiet night, though, so I was sure there wasn't much left to do in the kitchen anyway.

He groaned and lifted his head just enough to look at me. "He said, 'Now get out of my kitchen.' I screwed up, Bells. I didn't know she was his daughter! And even so, how was I supposed to know he'd go all fucking crazy on me? I felt like one of the bad guys in Taken and he was Liam Neeson just waiting for the right moment to kick my ass. I can't even show my face here anymore. I'm going to have to look for another internship. Man, this sucks."

I placed a coke in front of him and called upon the acting gods. "Well… he could have had you stay late and do inventory, or clean the entire floor with a toothbrush, or hand-clean the grills So, maybe it's actually a nice thing that he let you out early?"

"Argh. Way to be an optimist, Bella. Don't give the tyrant any ideas, please?"

Because karma was kicking Emmett's ass today, that was the exact moment Edward came up behind him - back to his non-threatening self, smiling. "Tyrant, Emmett?"

I had never seen a human being look quite so much like a startled cat. Emmett jumped, and almost fell off his stool. "Shit!" he exclaimed. "I'm so sorry, boss, I swear, I didn't mean—"

Edward interrupted him, laughing out loud, effectively ending the night-long prank, and gave his intern one of those manly one-armed hugs that I never quite understood. Why not just go for a full hug? Was it a testosterone thing?

"All right, Emmett. It's been fun, but I'll let you off the hook now. I'd offer you a drink… but you're eighteen, so, um, coke?"

I laughed at the look of confusion on Emmett's face and saw understanding dawn. "Holy fu- you… You pranked me? You. Pranked. Me. I'm so impressed and relieved. Man, you were _scary_ today. Ah, sweet relief."

For a second, Edward's Evil Mastermind mask was back on, and he looked at Emmett with a scary sort of anger on his face. "But seriously, stay the hell away from my daughter."

Emmett gulped. "Y-y-yes, sir," he stuttered as he brought his gaze back to the bar, missing the wink Edward gave me.

As the evening wound down and patrons left the scene, we closed the restaurant for the day and more and more of the staff came to sit at the bar to get some drinks. Mike, with his glorious absent morals, tended to joyfully hand out alcoholic drinks to anyone that wanted them after closing time. It was a tradition that I found peculiar - besides the fact that it was highly illegal to serve us minors alcohol, it also couldn't possibly be a financially sound decision for the restaurant. A group of eight to twelve people having drinks for a few hours who didn't pay must have some negative effect on the place's revenue.

But hey, whatever. I liked these times, because socializing with this bat shit crazy group of people was a lot of fun. I had been warned that this place was like a giant incestuous family, and it seemed to be the truth. Evening after evening was filled with gossip stories about who hooked up with whom - no shame or regret or censoring at all.

Interestingly, Jessica - the only one that had caught Edward and I making out - had seemingly not yet shared her discovery with the others, I thought, because surely we would've been the topic of tonight's conversation. Or, well, aside from the continuous jokes at Emmett's expense. Of course, Jessica herself wasn't here right now to spread the gossip. Mike, too, was conspicuously absent, but by now we were all used to that and kept away from the manager's office.

Just as I was thinking about our pot-bellied boss, a woman walked in through the staff entrance and marched up to us. "Where's Mike?" She had the ultimate pissed-off look perfected on her face, and the mascara lines from dried-up tear tracks beneath her eyes made the look that much more dramatic. It didn't take a genius to figure out that this woman was most definitely Mike's fiancé. Interestingly, she kind of looked like Jessica, but ten years older, a little heavier, a little less put together. Probably a couple of pounds of make-up less, too.

We were all silent as Bree lifted her hand and pointed in the direction of the office. With no patrons left, and all of us shocked silent, it wasn't hard to hear the moans and groans coming from that direction. Surely, the nameless fiancé heard those same sounds as she stomped off towards Mike's office.

"The shit. Is hitting. The fan," Emmett declared, echoing our thoughts.

Have you ever watched one of those cartoons where the action can't be shown, so they break the fourth wall and say, "hold on a sec", and then disappear into an off-screen room where they make loud noises as they - presumably - fight? Yeah, that's exactly how this felt. There was that moment when the door was flung open dramatically, and it hit the wall with a loud thump. There was Miss Fiancé's easy to hear 'YOU FUCKING BASTARD', and the embarrassed 'oh my gods' and 'shits' and other expletives that followed from Mike and Jessica. We could even hear them scrambling to find their clothes, Mike's apologies and Fiancé's refusal to accept his words. We heard the sound of something small and metal-like bouncing around the floor, and I deduced that she'd thrown her engagement ring at him.

The whole ordeal had taken less than a minute, and already, Miss Fiancé had turned around and stomped past us, slamming the door closed as she left the scene in a whirlwind of pure fury.

It took another five seconds before Mike appeared, pot belly and chest hair on display for all and barefoot. He ran, following his fiancé's path while attempting to simultaneously button his jeans, and we could hear him shout, "Wait! Linda, wait! Don't leave me, I love you!" down the street before the door fell closed behind him.

I sincerely hoped Linda-the-fiancé was smart enough to stay far, far away from him. As a quietly weeping Jessica dejectedly joined our motley crew of misfits, I was certain the third person involved in this mess was not as smart as Linda. She'd probably go back to the rat bastard again and again. I hoped - and doubted - he was worth it.

"Woosh! Well, enough of that drama. What can I get for you, sugar?" Bree asked in a raspy voice, and for a second I was confused - I'd been lost in thought and it seemed like she was talking to me. Looking at her, I quickly realized she'd intended her words for Tyler, who was eating up her attempts at flirting. Tyler asked for a beer, and without asking, she gave Edward one as well and handed Jessica a shot, which she threw back instantly.

"Do you want a beer?" he asked me.

I feigned shock. "Are you suggesting illegal activities, Mr. Cullen? Providing a minor with an alcoholic beverage? I am in shock, Mr. Cullen. Shock!"

"Jesus, you're young. I almost forgot." He laughed at me with a wink.

"Don't you forget it, old man."

"Ooh, Bella and Edward. I see that happening. What do you think, Bella?" Bree asked.

Ah, what to say? Go with honesty? Nah, that's boring. "Oh my god, Bree, seriously. I like Edward, but he is _way_ too old for me." I threw in a shudder for good measure, but then I had to glance at Edward to check if he'd understood that I was joking. What if he thought I was serious? I couldn't decipher the look on his face from the corner of my eye, so I turned my head to face him properly. He narrowed his eyes at me and I swear to all hell I'd take back my rant on reading emotions, because his eyes were just sparkling with mischief, and I knew mine would read 'uh oh, scared now'.

He stood up and brought his face close to mine, bending over me as if he was impersonating a Disney villain. His actions caught the attention of the others, and without looking around I knew they were staring at us. This day sort of felt like flipping through the TV channels and finding only daytime soap operas - drama here, drama there, even more ridiculous drama there again. I idly wondered if this place was just that toxic.

"Are you sure, little girl?" he asked menacingly. Edward was sure enjoying the theatrics today. I suddenly sympathized with Emmett, feeling almost threatened - and I _knew_ he was just faking it.

Well, they did say the best defense was offense, right? "I'm sure, grandpa. You couldn't keep up with me," I snarled back, standing up too - even though I wasn't nearly as tall as Edward, I at least looked a tiny bit more threatening than when I was sitting down.

"While I do like a woman who's self assured, I think you'll find you're sorely mistaken here. I don't think you'd be able to handle a mature, experienced man. It'd be too much of a shock compared to the little boys you're used to." His face crept closer to mine, and we were almost nose to nose.

I liked this game, knowing that everyone around us was completely confused by this little act we were playing. I felt his breath on my face and his mouth was _so_ close to mine and I knew how he tasted, how those lips could make me feel, and well, I was never one for patience.

"Try me," was all I said.

It only took him a beat to understand the challenge, and then his lips were on mine and his arms were around my back, pulling me so close to him my boobs were in danger of getting squashed, but that seemed irrelevant, because, well, Edward kisses were awesome.

A small, rational part of my brain was talking to me, saying 'um, hello, you're making out in front of all your co-workers, shouldn't you be talking about what you want out of this first? Or about the speech he made earlier tonight?' But the biggest part of me was just lost in his kisses and touches, and didn't care much about anything outside of that.

A group of ten people applauding loudly, however, did break the Edward-induced trance I was in. Pulling apart made my mind start working again, which immediately turned my face into the shade of a tomato.

Well, I guess we'd just successfully outed ourselves to our co-workers.

Edward bent his tall frame to place his mouth to my ear. "We should talk, right? How about we leave these nitwits to their own drama and I buy you a drink somewhere?"

That seemed like the best idea I'd heard all day, so I linked my arm with his and we walked out, no doubt leaving the others more confused than ever. I could imagine them all with open mouths, trying to figure out what the hell just happened, and the way their faces looked in my imagination had me cracking up the second we were outside. Edward quirked his eyebrow at me in a silent question.

"Just imagining their faces."

"Ahhh, I see. I'm currently imagining yours when you realize that our dramatic exit prevented us from taking our coats and your purse."

That was enough to stop me in my tracks. "Aw, crap. I have my phone in my pocket but nothing else. Now I have to go and ruin the perfection of that exit by walking back in to get my stuff. What a sad anticlimax."

He laughed. "Well - you're working tomorrow, right?"

I nodded.

"How about we give them more to gossip about. You can stay over at my place and ride back to work with me tomorrow? I'll be a perfect gentleman, promise."

I didn't quite believe that last part, and I wondered how I'd brush my teeth, or find clean panties to wear, but I'd already decided I wasn't going to think too much, right? Just _do_? So I nodded and let him lead the way.

*.*.*

 **A/N: Uh oh. What do you think? Should he *really* be a gentleman, or…?**

 **Fic rec of the day: Playing Cops and Vloggers by LyricalKris. Fun, fluff, a nerd and a cop. What more do you need?**


	10. Chapter 10: Not your average lemon

_**LOOKS BAD ON PAPER CHAPTER 10 - NOT YOUR AVERAGE LEMON**_

 _ **A/N it's been a while. Sorry for that. Next few chapters will probably update more regularly. Where were we? Bella was going home with Edward. He was going to be a gentleman (but none of you wanted that to happen, heh).**_

 _ ***.*.***_

 _What can I do? - A_

I sighed in relief as I saw Alice's response to my 'S.O.S.' text light up my phone screen. I was freaking out a little, and Alice was my lifeline. It was rather difficult to discreetly text her back, however, as I was currently sitting right next to Edward, in his car, on our way to his place, to do _ohmygod what am I doing_? I clearly needed Best Friend Guidance, and I tried to type a quick message that conveyed my distress.

 _Freaking out. W chef in car, to his place. Also - no clean panties. What do I do? -B_

Edward glanced my way, and it was painfully obvious that he'd seen me text, but he said nothing. I was making this car ride extraordinarily uncomfortable. I was sure he would have said something, started a friendly conversation, but I was so focused on questioning my own actions - would I sleep with him? Should I? Was I making the right decision? Was I going crazy? I just kept fidgeting and staring out the window, sitting in the comfortable Volvo seat as if it was a bed of nails.

He just seemed so confident - a far cry from the almost shy man who introduced me to his daughter earlier tonight - as if he had all the answers in the world, and knew exactly what he wanted.

Maybe that was the problem, and I was just the immature twenty-year-old who was playing a game I didn't know the rules to.

I let out a sigh.

"Are you all right, Bella?" His voice interrupted my thoughts and I startled; trying to think of something sensible to respond, but he continued, "Should I take you home? You don't seem at ease, and I don't want you to be uncomfortable."

Sure, just add gentlemanly and sweet to the list of good things about this man. "Sorry, I know I'm acting weird. I'm too caught up in my own thoughts. I'm not … used to this, you know? I don't really know what I'm doing, or if it's what I should be doing and… Ugh. I'm just driving myself insane," I trailed off. Ah, if only I had two separate corporal identities hashing out my thoughts in my head like that Fifty Shades nimwit, maybe I'd get somewhere.

I could see the corner of his mouth lift up in a half-smile. "Well, there's nothing wrong with thinking, unless it's driving you mad. Maybe you should go with what you feel if that helps?"

Hmmm, analyzing my feelings. No, wait, not analyzing, just feeling. I felt a whole lot of wanting to bury my hands in his hair and finding out what our bodies would feel like when pressed together naked.

And was it hot in this car?

My phone buzzed with Alice's reply and I took advantage of the distraction to cool myself down a bit.

 _Don't think just feel and you know what you want. See you at the corner of Olive & 7th hon! - A_

Well, that's interesting, that's pretty much what Edward just said and - huh, what?

I looked out the window and found that we were indeed driving down Olive Way and that we'd just passed 6th Ave. Sure enough, at the next corner, I could make out the shape of my tiny but immensely colorful best friend waiting at the traffic light. She was hard to miss; she'd dyed her hair in streaks of purple last week, and she was wearing a bright yellow sundress, sticking out from the mostly gray-clad crowd like a sore thumb. But in a good way. Fuck, I suck at similes. No, metaphors. Analogies? Argh! Why the hell was I an English Lit student again? Clearly they should've kicked me out long ago.

"Stop the car!" I shouted, startling Edward. He dutifully parked his car on the side of the road and I jumped out. I started to run toward Alice as I realized I'd been stuck in my own head since he asked if I wanted to leave, and this… running… was probably sending the wrong message.

"Um, wait, Edward? I'll be right back, okay? Promise."

The poor man must be confused as hell, I thought as I made my way to hug my tiny pixie friend.

"OK, Bells. Here you go," she said, handing me a purse that had once been hers, and had long since made its way to my closet. "Toothbrush, clean underwear for tomorrow, sexy underwear for tonight if you're into that sort of thing. Although apparently you are because I took this from your own drawer, but, whatever. Hairbrush, razor, shaving cream, and I took the liberty of putting your pill strip in there as well. Will that do?"

I wanted to ask how the hell she got into my apartment, packed me a bag and made her way across town in such a short time. Or how she knew where to meet us. Or how she knew… whatever, I decided. Alice was one of a kind. I thanked her profusely, promising her a spa trip, and ran back, bag in hand, to where the silver Volvo stood waiting, passenger door still opened and rudely blocking half of the sidewalk.

Edward raised a brow at me as I slid into my seat, silently asking me what that was all about. I decided against lengthy explanations of inner thoughts and magic Alice. "Well? Chop, chop, Mr. Cullen. Time's a-wastin', sugah."

If anything, his eyebrow climbed even higher. "You just went from faux-British to faux-southern in the span of six words. I'd be impressed if your accent skills didn't suck so much."

This was more like our easy banter again, and I felt infinitely more relaxed.

"I will accept your insult only when you've proven yourself to be better at it," I replied with a fake air of arrogance, because I was very much aware that acting was not one of my better skills, and I was even worse at trying on accents.

He cleared his throat, and suddenly started in a perfect cockney accent, "I'll have to go up the apples and pears for a spot of Rosie Lee with the troubles and strife and think about it. Afterward, I'll have to head on down the frog and toad to the rub-a-dub-dub for some wind and sails."

"Huh," I replied. "While admittedly impressive, I must wonder: Couldn't you, at least, pick a sexier accent?"

He chuckled. "Well dang, sugah, I'm fresh outta those," he drawled, and I half expected a cowboy hat and chaps to appear out of thin air.

"Or vould you laik to haff me tolk laik all zeh Russian bad guys from zeh movies? I wotch a lot of bad movie. I tolk laik Russian bad guy. Ish very sexy yes?"

I shook my head, amused, and curious as to what he'd come up with next.

"Ou peut-être tu ne veux pas un accent erotique, mais tu veux simplement écouter une langue erotique. Et naturellement, je te servirai, ma chèrie."

My eyes just about popped out of my skull at that. "Holy shitballs, where did you… how? What?"

He laughed heartily at my speechlessness. "You're not the only one with hidden skills, Cookie. I can do other things than cook, you know."

He smirked cockily, all his confidence and then some present. I decided to let him know overthinking Bella was currently absent, and possibly stupid. Stupidly confident Bella had taken over.

I leaned over to his side of the car, brought my lips to his ear, and mentally found my most sultry voice. "I'm counting on it, handsome," I purred.

And then, he almost hit a light post as his body tensed and the car swerved too close to the sidewalk.

"Fuck, Bella, you're driving me crazy. But let's continue this conversation when we're not in a moving vehicle, okay?"

I laughed. Somehow, our silly conversations seemed to be the cure for my incessant over-thinking. I felt lighter as if it was the most natural thing in the world to go home with this wonderful man who couldn't seem to stop making me laugh.

Interestingly, as my confidence started to grow, his seemed to disappear. He started fidgeting, nervously tapping his fingers on the steering wheel as he parked the car in front of an apartment complex.

"Um, so, this is where I live. Um. Shall we?"

I had to grin at that; clearly, what had made me nervous just ten minutes ago, was now hitting Edward full force. It seemed as if Edward could be funny, flirty and confident as long as it was a casual situation. But he kind of sucked at flirting with me, he'd been a blubbering mess introducing me to Rose, and now this - yeah, my guess was that if things got important enough, _that_ was when Edward's insecurities showed. It was adorable, but I realized we really wouldn't get anywhere if we were both channeling our insecurities, so I'd have to put on a show and just go for it.

All right then.

I could do this.

"Hey," I said softly, and touched his arm in the age-old cliché-because-it-works gesture, "want a distraction?"

"What?" He asked, confused.

"Earlier, I was overthinking. Brooding. Whatever. I got out of it because you showed me your amazing and ridiculous accent skills. Now, it appears, you're lost in thoughts, and unless that's because you've changed your mind, I'd say you're probably nervous. So I'm offering a distraction before we go inside. Not sure what yet, though. I'll improvise. So?"

He blinked a few times, and I realized I'd said all that at record speed and not like a normal person.

"You never say what I expect. I like it. While I'm sufficiently distracted by your offer of distraction, I'm too curious about your improv skills to decline your offer, so bring it on, Miss Swan."

I probably should have thought about this more.

Seriously, was my entire life made up of instances of 'should have thought more' and 'should've stopped thinking'? How can I ever use just the right amount of thi-

Right. Focusing on other things.

I cleared my throat and went with the age-old tactic of blurting out the first thing that popped up. "Andra moi ennepe, Mousa, polutropon hos mala polla."

His eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Was that English?"

"Nope. It's ancient Greek. First line of the _Odyssey_. I thought about it because it's like the only thing I remember from the Greek classes I took, and yet I have to assist these AP kids with their Greek at my other job. You'd laugh your ass off if you could see me improvise. They ask for help with sentences that don't make any sense to me, and I'm like, 'so, what do you think is the verb here? And do you think that's an eh… accusative?' I'm hilariously bad at it, honestly."

"I doubt that," he replied, looking serious. "So what does it mean?"

"The Greek thing?"

"Yeah."

"Um. You know how you sometimes know things by heart but you don't really know what it means?"

"Not really."

"Oh. Well, this is like that. Gimme a second to jog my memory. Ummm.. It's something like, ' _Sing to me of the man, Muse, the man of twists and turns, driven time and again off course, once he had plundered the hallowed heights of Troy_.' Except you need a few more lines of the original Greek to get to that point, but I didn't want to bore you with that. I had a nasty Greek teacher who made us all recite the first ten lines by heart, and she'd always insinuate we sucked as she talked about how the ancient Greek storytellers knew the entire damn Odyssey by heart."

"Huh. This is a very random topic."

"I know, right? But isn't whatever you were worrying about long gone now? And look, we made it to what I assume is your door in the meantime. That, or you just led us to some neighbor's place."

He chuckled. "Yeah, you're right, and don't worry, this is my place. Shall we, milady?"

Edward had changed his voice to Mr. Darcy … sort of British for the last bit, so I curtseyed, holding up my imaginary dress. "Why yes, kind sir, please do proceed," I said, cringing as I realized just how horrible my British accent was.

With an overly grand gesture, he opened the door to his apartment, and I only had a split second to think about my expectations of his place. Would I walk into the ultimate bachelor's pad, all sleek and gray and modern, filled with furniture with sharp edges I could walk into?

However, as we walked on, I was met with a wall in bright yellow and another one in a bright lime green. Kind of horrifying and cheerful at the same time. The living room seemed to have a color scheme that was eclecticism at its best, or worst, or at least the most extreme. Even with only a few lamps on, it was clear the entire room was very, very colorful, and it threw me for a loop for a bit.

"Um, do you… would you like a tour? Or um… a drink?"

I guessed the effect of quoting Homer had worn off.

"Later," I said, attempting to use my sultry voice, which was probably about as successful as my British accent. It worked, regardless - confident Edward suddenly returned to the scene, and before I knew it, hands cupped by butt and lifted me up in the air. My arms wrapped around his neck like it was the most natural place in the world to be, and my lips found his as I was pushed against the wall.

"This," he said between kisses, "is the living room."

Still holding me, he walked on, passing through a corridor, as oddly colorful as the living room had been. "This door leads to my bedroom," he said as he nibbled on my neck, "and that concludes tonight's tour, gorgeous."

Edward pushed open the door, revealing a spacious bedroom that was thankfully not as brightly colored as the other spaces I'd seen so far. The walls were taupe, that undefinable color between gray and purple used when no bold choices are dared to be chosen. There was a bookcase filled with some random objects and a handful of photo frames lining the wall opposite the bed. But other than that, the room was incredibly bare, and lacking personality.

Except for one very questionable piece of art hanging right above his bed.

"Wait," I interrupted his kiss, "is that a… piece of… dick art?"

Edward looked confused and followed my gaze to the painting on the wall, which to my eyes couldn't represent anything but a dick frolicking in some meadow. There was grass, there were flowers, and there was a disembodied dick. Nothing else.

"Um. Shit, seriously, that's what you see in that?"

"You mean to tell me you have a painting of a dick above your bed and you didn't know it was a dick? How the hell is that possible?"

"Rosalie painted it for me when she was four years old. It was a Father's Day gift. It's me, in a meadow."

Oh, shit, I just had to go and open my big mouth. "Oh fuck… and here I am insulting your kid's artwork and ruining the mood. Um. Sorry?"

He laughed at me, this warm, hearty laugh that showed me he wasn't as offended as he had a right to be. "Don't worry about it, I kind of see your point now. It's like the arrow in the FedEx logo, you know, once you see it you can't unsee it? Crap, now I'm gonna have to move that particular painting or it's going to bug me every time I go to bed."

He shook his head, amused by my mortification. "Now, where were we?" He asked, and promptly reattached his lips to mine. Wrapped in his arms, his hands cupping my ass, it became easy to ignore the Dick Art.

I tugged on his t-shirt, the universal sign for 'let's take these clothes off', and we broke the kiss. Edward lifted my shirt, exposing the lacy bra I'd thankfully chosen to wear, and struggled a bit to get it over my head - why'd I have to wear the shirt with the tight collar?

It was amazing how nothing was progressing like a romance novel and yet I was still aroused.

"Is that… Daffy Duck?" He asked, incredulous.

I felt my cheeks burn red with embarrassment, as they always did whenever someone brought this up and placed my hand on the offending image to cover it up. "Yeah. Bad decisions, being eighteen, and long stories led to this absolutely horrendous rendering of a cartoon duck permanently inked on my pelvic bone. Can we ignore it?"

"I don't know, can we? It's staring straight at me," he laughed, and I slapped him playfully on the arm.

"Hey, how about you stop being an ass about my lame tattoo and show me what's under your shirt?"

"As you wish, ma'am," he said and bowed, before taking off his shirt in a single motion, much more smoothly than mine had been, revealing his chest, and just... holy smokes fucking eight-pack, is all I'm saying.

"Bella?" He asked, concerned, and I held up a finger, signaling him to give me a minute. Finally, I could close my mouth again and snapped back to reality. "Holy hell Cullen, how do you even have time to work out?"

A cocky smirk graced his face. "I don't, actually, but I do have a job that requires me to stand and walk twelve hours a day, and I carry around a lot of heave produce in bulk. I take it you approve?" He stepped closer to me, and almost involuntarily, my hand reached out to touch his abs. Man, oh man, was this perfection.

I may have purred a little as my hands explored his chest. Edward just looked at me with a silly grin and a raised eyebrow, patiently letting me enact my crazy.

Eventually, I was ready to move on to the rest of his body, and linked my fingers through his belt, intending to open the buckle and get rid of his pants. I stumbled a bit - who knew a man's belt buckled the opposite direction of a woman's? That just makes no sense - and groaned out loud at yet another imperfect moment. Why couldn't I just be smooth, the embodiment of sensual perfection or some shit?

Thankfully, Edward's fingers quickly joined mine to help out, so I focused on my own jeans as I did a mental check - panties were navy and pretty, pubes were shaved recently enough to not be an embarrassing wilderness. With one deep breath, I slid down my pants - getting the skinny jeans stuck on my calves, of course; I had not yet mastered the art of removing skinny jeans without turning them inside out. But I chose not to linger on the fact that I took my pants off like a four-year-old because Edward was now standing in front of me in just his boxer briefs.

*.*.*.*

Now, I'd like to say that the sex we had that night was amazing, world-shattering, orgasmic perfection, but we all know that doesn't happen in my life.

My life is filled with awkward.

Jacob, bless his hairy back, had been uneventful in bed, with a small dick and little imagination. I'd had a small bit of sexual history before that, but, well, let's just say it was a miracle I was still even interested in having sex, with how disappointing my experiences had been.

Anyway.

Edward was big. Really big. And I was a rather petite girl, and I'd never experienced anything quite like his size.

I could have chosen to communicate this with him, to explain my worries, perhaps ask if he wanted to go slow, but it is really, really hard to talk to someone of your fears regarding sex when you're both naked and ready to go. So, I decided I could do this, and no words were needed except 'oh God' and 'yes, more', or things to that effect. And anyway, the next thing I knew he had crawled down my body and put his mouth on me, and I wasn't really able to think straight after that, anyway.

There's something about receiving oral sex that always made me uncomfortable. The sensations of his tongue licking my clit were fucking awesome. But then I made the mistake of looking down, and there's just nothing that looks quite as ridiculous as looking down at your own pussy and seeing the top half of a man's face, nose buried between your folds. His eyes looked up at me, making his forehead scrunched and almost wrinkly, and then I just lost it and started laughing.

"Oh fuck, Edward, I'm sorry, it's not you, honest. Ignore me. Come up here, please?" I gently grabbed his hair and pulled him up for a thorough kiss, trying to make up for my fuck-up. I figured he would ask about my inappropriate laughter, and tried to move on to the main event.

I'd read some romance novels describing the moment of penetration as 'he stretched me to the fullest, a wonderful fit', or some such bullshit, but honestly? The feeling of being stretched inside… I wanted to cry out. It felt like I was losing my virginity a second time, but I really wanted to experience sex with Edward, so I shut my mouth and tried to enjoy the sensations.

It worked, thankfully.

As these things go, my body accommodated his size, and as we moved in unison, I began to love how he felt inside me. He was vocal, groaning and whispering in my ear. He constantly touched me, letting his hands explore my entire body as his lips kissed me everywhere he could reach. He wasn't moving too fast or too rough or too slow. And while the discomfort his size brought me meant I probably wouldn't be able to come, I didn't mind. For lack of better words, we just fit. Even if he didn't.

Heh.

"Fuck, Bella, you're so tight," he moaned into my ear, and I almost wanted to say, 'Yeah, no shit,' but again, I shut up.

His movements sped up, and I moved in sync with him, lost in the sensations - and then he stopped, and murmured, "I don't want to come quite yet." He slowed down considerably, and I wanted to say, "please come," because I didn't know how much longer I'd be able to take this, but again, I said nothing.

I was at war with myself.

Our bodies connected, his kisses and caresses were heaven, and I knew that if we ever have sex again in the future, no doubt I'd get used to his dimensions. And dear God, how I wanted to keep having sex with him. But right now, I needed it to stop before things started to really chafe, but without just saying 'please stop,' because that would just send the completely wrong message.

Edward sort of solved my problem for me, as he flipped us around, placing me on top. The new position allowed for a slightly different angle, which was a relief for me, and I knew would cause extra stimulation for him.

Of course, with my minimalist exposure to the wonders of sex, I had absolutely no idea how to move, and I felt a little lost as I tried to move my hips forward.

I could have told him I had no idea what I was doing, but - again - I said nothing, and tried to make the best of it.

As I moved on top of him, I thought about what I could say. 'Are you close?' Maybe. 'Are you going to come yet?' Probably wouldn't work.

"Ahhh, slow down baby," he groaned, "I'm going to come if you don't slow down."

Instant problem solver! Okay, time for my sexiest voice. "Yesss… Edward. I want to feel you come," I whispered, adding a little extra sass to my movements to speed things up. He grabbed my hips and thrust upward, matching my speed.

"Fuck, yessss," he grunted, as he pulled me down, filling me even deeper, and I tried my hardest not to flinch. Edward panted, worn out from his orgasm, so I carefully lifted myself off him, holding on to the condom to make sure that didn't go anywhere it didn't need to go, and lay down next to him.

I was going to be so sore tomorrow.

Edward rolled to his side, capturing me in his arms. "You're amazing, Bella. I can't wait to do that again."

I couldn't help myself - I let out a humorless laugh, which got his attention.

"What was that?" He asked, understandably confused.

How was I going to talk my way out of this one? "Um…"

He propped himself up on his elbow and gently cupped my chin, forcing me to look at him. "Please tell me, Bella. I know you didn't come… and I fully intend to make up for that gross oversight next time… but I get the feeling I'm missing something."

"You'rereallybigandithurtmyvaginaokay!" I blurted out in record speed.

I watched his face as he attempted to make sense of my words. I could tell the exact moment he got it: his eyes went wide, and he let out a groan.

"I hurt you?" He asked, in a small voice.

I sighed.

I didn't want him to feel bad at all - he was a very good, attentive lover and it wasn't his fault my anatomy wasn't used to the size of his anatomy, or that I lacked the ability to communicate during sex. Or that I was constantly overthinking, unable to shut my mind up and just enjoy the sensations.

"Hey," I replied, my voice just as soft. I let my finger stroke his face, from his bushy, unruly eyebrows to the sharp line of his jaw, "Don't worry about it, Edward."

He narrowed his eyes at me. "No. That is not acceptable. I.. I wanted it to be as good for you as it was for me, and you're telling me I hurt you. Of course, I'm going to worry about it."

I smiled a sad half-smile, wishing I knew the magic words to turn this conversation in a better direction. "Well, don't blame yourself, okay? It's not like I said anything. And aren't you supposed to enjoy the ego boost of being told you have a big cock?"

Edward let out a humorless chuckle and shook his head. "Not if it hurts you."

"Hey, if it makes you feel better, I'm sure I'll get used to it…" I trailed off suggestively.

He finally granted me with a real, gorgeous smile. "Yeah? Planning a repeat performance, Miss Swan?"

"Many of them," I assured him before capturing his mouth in a slow, languid kiss.

We made out lazily for a while, naked bodies entangled, hands roaming everywhere. I rested my head on his chest, and fell asleep draped over him, my leg thrown over his and my hand resting on his shoulder, as his arm held me in place at my waist.

*.*.*

 ** _A/N: okay, that_ _was cringe worthy to write, so I'm sure it can't have been much better to read. I just really wanted something a little more realistic. The first time you have sex with someone isn't always_ _going to be multiple orgasms and absolute perfection and hallelujahs. This doesn't mean Edward is a bad lover (although it does sort of mean Bella needs to learn when to open her mouth). They'll get better with practice, but sex is not going to be a major part of this story. This fits them, I think. Awkwardness, some laughter, sayi_ _ng inappropriate things, bad timing, and lots of confusion in communication. I am very anx_ _ious to hear your thoughts._**

 ** _The cockney slang is from a Tony Hancock (who?) skit that I found online. The French was my own translation of "Or maybe you don't want an erotic accent, but you just want to listen to an erotic language. And naturally, I will serve you, my darling." My French isn't perfect so it's possible I made some mistakes._**

 ** _Thank you, Fran, for your beta work, and Snowflakelover for prereading._**

 ** _Tip of the day: check out Words of Love for Meli. The initiative alone warms my heart, and there are already a lot of great stories there. I wrote one, too (a story, that is, not necessarily a great one ;)), which will show up online soon._**


	11. Chapter 11: Improvement

**Chapter 11 – Improvement**

 **I own nothing blahblah.**

 **Thanks to Fran, Fyrebirch and snowflakelover for beta & preread work.**

.

.

"Blue."

"Why blue? You have literally every color in this apartment except for blue, yet blue is your favorite color? That makes no sense."

"Never said I did."

"What's with all the colors, anyway?"

We were still in bed, enjoying an incredibly lazy morning after. Waking up in Edward's arms was absolutely divine. A little sweaty, and with gross— but quickly rectified—morning breath on both sides, but still: divine.

A girl could get used to this.

"You don't like the color scheme?" he asked with a grin as his fingers traced invisible circles on my bare back.

"Way to answer my question with a question, doofus."

He snorted. "Doofus? Seriously? For one with a vocabulary as creative as yours, I'd have expected a much more original insult."

"Way to keep ignoring the question, doofus."

He sighed and propped himself up on an elbow. "So, I was married…"

"Obviously, to your kids' mom. I get that. Does that have anything to do with your wall colors?"

"Well, yes, but that's not what I was going to say."

"Oh. Shutting up now. Please, continue. I know so little about you, and I really do want to hear more."

"I'm not sure a relationship history is appropriate for a first morning after kind of situation, though."

"Meh. I'll take it. I'm under no delusions that you're a virginal creature. Besides, obviously, your past is still… well, you know. Present. In the shape of two kids. Seems like an important thing to know more about, if you ask me."

He smiled and seemed relieved that I was interested to hear more. I was no expert in dating anyone, let alone someone with kids, but it seemed natural to me to want to know more about his history. I mean, the man had two children walking around! Even if I wanted to, I wouldn't have been able to ignore his history.

"I'll just start at the beginning if that's okay?" I nodded. "I met Maggie when I was nineteen. She became my first girlfriend, first everything, but neither one of us had any ambition to stay together forever, I think. But, well, you can guess. Young, stupid, sex, pregnant, baby. Long story short—eventually, we just exploded, and we split."

I had no idea what to say to that, so I nodded, willing him to continue.

"Still, leaving the mother of your children is going to mess with your head. I met Jane, fell hard, and fast. Hey—do you want some breakfast? This is a very long and boring story to endure without food."

I agreed, so I quickly wrapped myself in a large button-up of his—hey, it's cliché because it works—as he put on some pajama pants and a wife beater. I dutifully followed him to his state of the art kitchen. It was all modern and shiny and looked so expensive that I was even afraid to touch the countertops. All the cupboards were an overwhelmingly bright white, a stark contrast to the rest of the colorful apartment. It had a sleek bar with polished white stools next to the oversized, professional style stove, and I plopped down on one of them as carefully as I could. I was almost afraid to touch anything; with my luck, I'd break a high-tech appliance just by sitting down.

Edward pulled some frying pans out of the cupboards and got to work. It was amazing to see how natural Edward looked in the kitchen; it was his sanctuary, his natural habitat. He multitasked effortlessly, chopping up vegetables and flipping things in pans and simultaneously making coffee as he continued his story.

"So Jane … was definitely the wrong person. I don't want to waste too much time talking about her, so let's just say I was blind and didn't realize what a complete horror she was until after she left me."

I wanted to ask more, but something in his voice told me that was all I was going to hear on the topic of Jane, so I stayed silent. Eventually, he'd get to the point of the colorful walls, right? But Edward seemed pensive, focused on his cooking—which was starting to smell heavenly, by the way. I just sort of stared at him, waiting, watching the muscles in his arms flex as he flipped the contents of the frying pan.

But there was only so much patience one can have, and my patience level is generally a lot lower than the average person's, so I cleared my throat to get his attention.

Edward looked up and met my gaze with a puzzled frown on his face as if he could not comprehend why I was expecting more words from him.

The words _'you're not one for details, are you'_ were on the tip of my tongue, and I swallowed them. My God, Swan - you could try showing some empathy instead of being an impatient, curious brat.

"I'm sorry you had to go through that." I was not good with standardized statements of expressing emotions. I felt it, obviously—why would anyone divorce this man—but like the failed English major that I was, I tended to have a hard time finding my words. Except for when I was spewing nonsense, or song lyrics, or ranting about things. Heartfelt discussions, however? Not my forte. It would've been really helpful to have words at the ready now … but nope. There was an empty room in my brain, filled with only a billboard saying ' _Ha! I got nothing_.'

Edward gave me a half-smile and proceeded to change the subject. "I'm a bit late asking you this, but is there anything you don't eat?"

"Asparagus and cauliflower. Don't worry; I would've yelled if I had seen you chop up something I refuse to eat. How about you? Are chefs even allowed to dislike food?"

"I don't think anyone likes all food. I wasn't very fond of the sheep's brain I tried once. The texture's a bit iffy," he stated with an air of nonchalance.

I gagged, glad I hadn't had breakfast yet. "Sheep's brain? You are much, much braver than I am."

He grinned. "I could tell you all the weird stuff I've eaten, but I'm cooking for you, and I don't want you to lose your appetite."

I shuddered. Images of animal organs and cricket cookies ran through my mind unwanted. "That is very considerate of you …," I mumbled. I was fairly certain my face was still stuck in some kind of disgust-showing mode.

"So, your kids don't live here?" I asked, eager to change the subject and learn more about Edward.

He shook his head as he grabbed several spices from a cupboard. "Nah. You've seen the hours I work—I'm rarely home before midnight. It's just not doable to be a chef and a single father."

That made sense. He worked insane hours, completely opposite of what a child's day looked like. "But they visit often, Rose and—oh shit! I am a lousy person. I can't believe myself. Crap," I berated myself, feeling a massive blush color me from nose to neck. "I … I don't even know your son's name." Way to go, Bella. You suck at being attentive and interested.

 _Moron._

Edward didn't seem offended, though, and he chuckled at my discomfort, flashing me a grin. "Yes, both Rose and what'shisname visit as often as our schedules allow."

I raised a brow at him. "Now you're just being mean."

His grin grew and his eyes twinkled with mischief. I wanted to call him out on it, but he was just so damn attractive, especially when he looked that happy and carefree. I may have swooned a little. But silently and discreetly, of course.

"Here, Cookie," he said, and the next thing I knew I was looking at a plate brimming with a richly filled omelet that smelled absolutely amazing.

"I really, really want to eat this because it's making my stomach tingle and my mouth water, but I also really want you to stop being mean and answer my question."

That may or may not have come out a little whiny.

"You didn't actually ask me a question, though."

 _Huh._

I guess I didn't.

Damn you, Edward, for getting me riled up and one-upping me in conversations like this.

"Point for you. Will you _please_ tell me about your son?" I said in a sugary-sweet voice, batting my eyes at him and putting on my best fake smile. I half-expected cartoon birds and butterflies to start buzzing around me.

His smile grew impossibly wider, and I got lost in the sight of him for a second or two until he handed me some cutlery and broke the spell.

A cup of coffee appeared in front of me almost at the same time, and I idly wondered just how in the hell he did that, and why he would only use his ninja skills for the restaurant business.

"My son is named Ben, and he's fourteen. You'll see him soon, I'd wager. He's here more often than his sister."

My eyes went wide, and I instinctively glanced at the front door as if said fourteen-year-old was going to walk in right this second. I wasn't very stealthy, either, because Edward obviously saw and started laughing.

"Don't worry, Cookie. Both Ben, Rose and other family members often show up here, but I'm not expecting any of them today."

Still, a part of me feared being walked in on by a teenager while only very partially dressed, so I was tempted to inhale the entire omelet in record speed.

It was good. Like, _really_ good. And this comes with a disclaimer, because obviously I already knew that Edward was funny, sweet, and really hot, so it's not like this was the only unique selling point … but there may have been a part of me that thought, _Oh man, I need to keep this one if he keeps cooking like this._

I'm sure millions of men throughout history have thought the same about their housewives, so really, it was just … I don't know. Positive discrimination? The opposite of misogyny? Well, whatever.

I may have moaned.

While eating.

News flash: don't try to moan while eating, especially if you tend to moan with your mouth open.

Yeah, that was disgusting and I will not share details.

Anyway.

We finished our breakfast in relative peace, aside from the embarrassing moan moments, and Edward suggested a more complete tour of the apartment than the one I'd gotten last night. I gleefully agreed—there wasn't much I loved more than snooping in other people's houses, and personal tours were just so much better than real estate websites and MTV Cribs' reruns.

Aside from the taupe bedroom, every single room in his house seemed to be defined by one or more colorful walls. A bright yellow wall housed his television; his dinner table stood against a bright orange one. Part of his kitchen wall was as red as his retro-style refrigerator, and his bathroom was purple. _Purple_ , I tell you. A small bedroom, that was obviously Rose's room judging from the giant calligraphy letters painted on the door, was a mix of red and pink that hurt my eyes, and Ben's room was almost entirely shades of green.

The whole thing was kind of insane and oddly cheerful at the same time. None of the colors really clashed, and the furniture was mostly light wood, so it could have been a lot worse.

Still though, it was a little over the top, even for me. And I once painted an entire room in rainbow stripes—yes, all colors—because I felt like making something happy.

To be fair, that had been a little over the top, too.

"So…" I started, desperately trying to think of ways to figure him out without offending him or his house. "You never did get around to explaining all the colors."

He sighed and led me back to the kitchen bar, which seemed to be his preferred spot in the house.

"Jane wanted everything to be white or black. And shiny, glossy. She hated everything that looked like it could possibly come from nature, like wood, and so everything needed to be synthetic, so it could be glossier, or whatever. I was so caught up in her that I let her do her thing, even though I felt like I was living in a sterile laboratory most of the time. The kids hated it, too. It just … took me a while to catch on. Have you ever been wrapped up in someone so much that you sort of forget who you are?"

Jane sounded like a real piece of work, and I mentally picked out my best stiletto for gouging out her eyes and kicking her ass. "Yeah, stoner-slash-drug-addict ex-boyfriend, remember? I was pretty much a perpetually-stoned couch potato for a while there. I get your point."

He gave me a small smile. "Right. So, when we got divorced, and I bought this apartment, I didn't want to see any more glossy white crap anywhere. And it was therapeutic, you know? The kids had hated my marriage to Jane, and this was a new beginning. So I took Rose and Ben with me and we just … went crazy. Rose was in a pre-teen phase, and she insisted on a pink and red room. Ben chose the green himself. And the rest of it, we kind of did a few coin tosses to pick the colors."

He sighed and took my hands in his. Edward really rocked the intense look, and I felt butterflies bubble up in my belly from the way he stared at me. _Must not get aroused right now_ , I chastised myself. _This is a serious conversation, dammit_.

"The crazy walls are like a constant reminder … of how wrong I'd been. A reminder to protect my heart and think of myself and the kids first, before ever trying a relationship again. Painting the walls meant closing off my heart, in a way. In fact, I thought I was done with all of it, for good."

"All of what?" I whispered inanely.

"Love, relationships, marriage, kids, a future with someone else."

I gulped.

I wasn't quite ready to think about marriage and children, I just had a vague idea that I'd want to get married and have a family one day. But Edward was already in his mid-thirties, he'd already been married, and he already had children. It made sense for him to say, once was enough. Could I—should I—move forward with a guy that didn't see the future the same way?

"Hey." He nudged my shoulder, breaking me out of my thoughts. I looked up at him, taking in all of his beautiful features. A soft smile graced his face as he softly stroked my cheek. His green eyes twinkled, and he just looked so happy, hopeful, and much younger than his thirty-six years.

"I think it's time to repaint the house," he said softly, and it took me a second to catch on.

Before I could respond, his lips found mine in a gentle kiss. I was a little overwhelmed by the conversation, and trying to translate his last words into something that made sense to me, but I told myself to stop overthinking and just go with it.

Fingers roamed my body, touching me everywhere I never knew I was sensitive. Lips touched my neck as his hands massaged my breasts and lower back, and like flipping a switch, I was turned on.

Holy hell, this man was talented.

"Now, Miss Swan," he murmured as he placed open-mouthed kisses on my neck, "you're going to tell me what you like and what you don't."

"Uhhh," I responded as his nails scraped my lower back, finding a surprisingly erotic spot.

"Because," he continued as he went lower and lower with his kisses, "what you pulled last night? Not. Fucking. Acceptable."

Edward growled a little, and I found myself whimpering, turned on beyond belief by his sudden forcefulness. He gave me a soft push and I fell to the couch, my body immediately covered by his.

"You see, Miss Swan," Edward continued in a calm voice as his teeth and lips found the swell of my breast, "I plan to make love to, have sex with, and fuck you in a multitude of ways. But I need to know what you want before I do that. So I guess the question is, do you _want_ me to fuck you, Miss Swan?"

One of his hands was massaging my ass, and the other softly, gently, torturously slowly found its way down my panties, and his mouth moved all over, licking and sucking everywhere he could, always just avoiding my nipples as he opened the buttons of my—well, his—shirt.

"Yesssss," I moaned. As if there was any question.

He finally opened the last of the buttons, exposing my breasts, and he immediately latched onto my nipple. I groaned and whispered, "yessss" again, my speech reduced to that word only as pleasure took over.

Edward released my nipple, and I was this close to yelling at him, because _why_? Why would he stop?

"So I'm going to go ahead and guess that that's in the 'good things' category?" he asked, and I nodded quickly, hoping it would entice him back to where he'd been.

He just chuckled.

I wanted to call him an asshole, but before I could, he scooted down, way down. His lips found my landing strip and I told myself to close my eyes and just feel the sensation—I mean, really, what grown up woman gets laughing fits from oral sex? I was ridiculous, and I promised myself to just feel.

And feel I did.

His lips found my clit and latched on, immediately sucking on it, _hard_.

My hips left the bed and involuntary sounds left my mouth. Holy fucking hell, that felt good. A finger traced my slit gently, teasing, as he flattened his tongue against my most sensitive spot. I forced myself not to think about the visual that I found so irresistibly funny, and it worked. As he pushed two fingers inside, I let out an embarrassingly loud moan.

So this was what people raved about. I'd received oral sex before, but due to my inappropriate laughter and the inability to just shut my mind up and enjoy, I tended to want to skip this part. My friends thought I was crazy when I said I didn't like oral. I agreed with them now.

This was heavenly, amazing, mind-blowing, earth-shattering and who knows what other cliché adjectives I could throw at this if I tried, but for once I wasn't thinking. I was just feeling. There was only Edward and his magical tongue and fingers.

Sooner than I'd thought possible, I felt my orgasm approach. I grabbed the couch cushion with one hand, digging my fingernails into the fabric. My other hand found Edward's hair, fingers threading through his lion's mane, running on instinct as I pulled him even closer.

I had never come quite that loudly before.

I was panting, more than a little stunned, and an immediate convert to the school of _People Who Love Oral_. I was definitely never laughing at that again.

I was still high from that shattering orgasm when Edward started to kiss and nibble his way from my hips to my breasts, up my neck, and to my ear. "Now, you didn't do as I asked," he whispered, and my breath hitched a little as I felt his lips touch my earlobe ever so softly.

Also, I had no idea what he was talking about, because all parts of me, brain included, were currently mush.

"You didn't tell me what you liked. Although, judging from the way you're still panting, I'm going to take a wild guess and say you enjoyed yourself."

A breathy affirmative "Uhhuh" left my mouth.

Nope, still not capable of forming words.

"Let's see what else you like, Miss Swan," he whispered, and filled me.

.

.*.*.*.

.

By the time noon rolled around, Edward could have taught a master class on 'what makes Bella's body happy.' Probably better than I could. He knew, now, just how sensitive my neck and throat were, and that pulling on my hair a little makes me moan like a hussy. He also figured out that biting is allowed almost everywhere, with the notable exception of my nipples.

I may have screamed and elbowed him in the face. Oops. It was a knee-jerk reaction! It hurt!

The best part, though, was that we had fun. We laughed about the nipple biting incident. We laughed when our teeth accidentally clashed together during a particularly heated kiss, and when he almost tripped over the jeans that were lying on the floor.

He took my words about his size to heart, constantly making sure I was okay. Despite a lingering soreness, my body had adjusted pretty well.

Wasn't quite sure how I was going to survive an eight-hour shift of walking around at The Rose today, though.

Oh well.

Worth it.

.

*.*

.

 **A/N**

 **Okay, that was a more serious chapter, but hey, even crazy people have serious conversations right? Fun & craziness will come back next chapter, promise.**

 **snowflakelover thought I was mean for putting a section break up there. If you agree with her, go check out her story Ebony & Ivory, with a mixed-race, sassy Bella plot twist on the original book. **

**I loved the response I got last chapter, with my less than conventional sex scene, haha. Maybe the people who hated that one, liked this one better? Epic orgasms and such? ;-) Lemme know!**


	12. Chapter 12: Marriage

**Chapter 12**

 **Look, I updated already! It's a chapter filled with nothing, really, but still! An early update!  
Thanks go out to Fran, April and Snow. **

* * *

We stood outside the doors of The Rose for a long time, saying nothing. We held hands and sighed occasionally, but otherwise, stupidly stared at the lousy job the painter had done a while back. The Rose's 1970-style logo—a gold lamé rose, because of course—wasn't as shiny as it should have been, and the gold paint had started to crackle.

I knew, on a windy day, tiny flakes of gold paint tended to fly off the wooden boards, down onto anyone who entered the restaurant. It looked mighty magical, but we'd gotten a bunch of complaints already, because the stuff was nasty for your eyes.

There'd been one guy who had such a strong reaction to the paint flakes that he'd spent the entire blind date with teary, bright-red eyes. His date thought he was stoned, which made him cry even more, and, well, yeah. It didn't go well.

It was a miracle this place still existed and hadn't been sued into bankruptcy yet, really.

We were procrastinating.

Edward and I were both a little worried about the crew's reaction to our less-than-subtle exit last night. Obviously, they all knew we were together. I didn't mind that. But this was a group of people that tended to behave like twelve-year-olds when stuck together, and while I usually loved to join them in juvenile behavior, I just wasn't looking forward to them making jokes about me.

Or us.

Clearly, Edward felt the same, because we were still standing on the sidewalk.

"All right. Let's man up and go in. Although, really, what a ridiculously misogynistic phrase, _man up_. I'm gonna woman up. Whatever. Let's go in."

Edward chuckled.

We still didn't move.

This was getting kind of pathetic.

"Okay, really, what's the worst they can do? We're better than them at bad jokes, anyway. We can take them."

"You're right," he agreed, and we opened the heavy door—eyes closed in case of falling gold flakes.

I sort of expected to be greeted by a whole bunch of evil grins attached to evil coworkers, ready to shower us in bad pervert jokes.

I was clearly too egocentric, because no one was paying us any attention. They were all huddled together near the kitchen where someone was screaming like she'd just hit her thumb with a hammer.

" _Of course I'm not going to accept this, are you out of your mind?"_

Huh. That almost sounded like Jessica.

Edward and I looked at each other, shrugged, and walked over to the group, curious to witness what was no doubt a major trainwreck of a situation.

At the large, oval table near the kitchen, Emmett, Tanya, Bree and Tyler were sipping coffee, all of their faces fixated in the direction of the kitchen entrance. Lauren was leaning against the wall, cell phone in hand and obviously recording.

On the dirty tile floor—God, that really needed some sweeping, or just replacement, shit, it must've been forty years old—was Mike, kneeling, arms flailing. He added so much drama to his movements that he no longer seemed like himself; it was as if he was in an amateur production of a Shakespeare play and didn't know how to act natural.

"Please, Jess, it's the thought that counts, and I love you!" he wailed, and brought his fists down, pathetically pounding them on the floor. I winced in semi-sympathy. The tiles were fairly massive; that must have hurt.

"Noooooo!" came Jess's reply, screamed from… somewhere? She wasn't in sight, and judging by the direction in which Mike was begging, I figured she was hidden in the kitchen somewhere.

Edward nudged Tanya's shoulder. "Hey, princess," he whispered. "What the hell is going on?"

I was instantly torn between trying to focus on the clusterfuck that was Jess and Mike and exploding from the jealousy I felt as I heard him call her princess.

 _It's just harmless flirting. Really. He was with me last night. And this morning. And Cookie's a much cooler nickname, anyway._

 _Oh fuck it, I'm a jealous bitch. So be it._

Tanya opened her mouth, but didn't get a chance to get the words out as Mike started sob-screaming again.

"But you thought it was pretty, right, Jess, sweetie?"

"Of course I did!" Jessica growled back from her hiding place.

"Well... I just wanted to please you, baby! I just wanted to give you something I knew you'd find pretty! Something pretty for my pretty, you know!"

Gah.

I gagged a little, but Jess refrained from yelling, choosing to simply sob loudly, so I guessed she liked it.

"Please, baby, please, baby," Mike started to beg the words on a loop.

"It's the ring," Tanya stage-whispered.

I frowned. That was not nearly enough of an explanation.

"Please, baby, please, baby," Mike's begging continued.

Wow, that guy really had a way with words.

"You remember how they were caught by his ex fiancé? And she threw her ring at him?"

Edward and I nodded simultaneously. Of course we remembered. That particular clusterfuck happened only yesterday, but even if it had been years, nothing was going to erase that particular memory from my brain.

"Right. So, Mike hadn't been able to find the ring, because it disappeared somewhere between the wine crates where they'd been fucking," Tanya continued, "but Jess found it today. So she gave it to him…"

Mike interrupted his continuous loop of begging, and turned to us. "And because I am a _romantic at heart,_ " he stressed, clutching his hand to his chest for emphasis, "I dropped down on my knee to propose to my love."

My mouth dropped open. So did Edward's. Tanya took one look at our faces and started giggling.

I tried to respond, but no words came out.

"Um…" Edward clearly had the same issue.

"I just wanted to show her I LOVE HER," Mike said in a loud voice, turning his head to Jessica's probable location to yell out the last part. "I don't understand." He pouted, facing us again. "She got so angry."

I cleared my throat. "You proposed at work… to your former mistress… with the ring that belonged to your fiancé up until yesterday… and which had been lying in a dusty storage room since then… and you expected her to say yes?"

"Yes, okay!" Mike yelled, apparently not reaching the same conclusions I was. "I couldn't wait! It was a display of.. of… spontaneousness! I just couldn't wait another second!"

I had nothing to say to that, but Jess apparently did. She popped her head around the corner of the kitchen, still sniffling a bit. "M-m-Mikey?"

Mike's head snapped up so fast I thought I heard a muscle crack. "Baby!" he crooned, and instantly tried to make his way over to her. He was still on his knees, which severely limited his speed, and made him look more like a penguin on ice than like a grown-up man trying to propose, but he reached her eventually, and held out his arms.

"You really mean that?" Jess sobbed, and placed her hands in his.

Mike, at the moment, looked as if for the life of him he couldn't remember what 'that' she could be referring to but caught himself and blurted out some more clichés, most of them soft enough that us bystanders couldn't hear what he was saying.

"Oh, Mikey," Jess sighed like a mid-century Hollywood actress on the verge of swooning. "It really _is_ a pretty ring… and it does fit me perfectly…"

Mike, still on his knees, looked more and more like a dog as he sensed some kind of victory and got over-excited. Any minute now his tongue would leave his mouth, and his tail would flop out of his pants to wag excitedly.

"Yes, baby, yes. You know I love you," the excited dog said.

"Okay. Yes. Yes, I'll marry you!" Jess squeaked, and jumped into Mike's arms, knocking them both to the ground. A squealing, moaning heap of limbs rolled across the floor in the most obscene display of affection I'd ever seen—and I had a history of catching people going at it in public places.

Well, that escalated quickly. And here I thought Edward and I were moving fast… that was nothing compared to Mike, who apparently managed to be engaged to two different women in the span of a day, with only one ring. It was amazing… in a disgusting sort of way. Jess and Mike were still rolling around on the floor with as much of their bodies attached to each other as possible. Ewww.

"Hey, wait," I whispered to the other guys. Why was I whispering? No idea. It seemed fitting, in a ' _don't disturb the wild animals'_ kind of way. "Didn't Jess have a boyfriend? I mean a non-Mike boyfriend?"

Edward shrugged. Tanya shrugged. Who knew? Or more importantly, who cared?

*.*.*

Thanks to the distraction Mike and Jess provided, the staff at The Rose didn't pay much attention to Edward and me, and the evening progressed completely as usual.

Emmett, no longer deathly afraid of Edward, was back to his old self, constantly cracking jokes.

Mike and Jess were only spotted once, when they came out to get a cup of coffee, and then disappeared into his office again. We put the annoying elevator music on a higher volume to make sure the guests wouldn't hear the moaning and humping—despite the fact that Mike's office was nowhere near the tables, they were having a very auditorily stimulating evening, and no one, including us, should be subjected to that.

Especially not when it came to these two. Gross.

Tanya was her usual flirty, happy self, and as usual, I hated her despite her nice personality. Maybe it was the Princess nickname thing, and I was a jealous child.

Eric showed up late because he'd taken the bus in the wrong direction—the third time in a month, apparently—and proceeded to prepare a dozen salads with ham in them.

And me, I was cheerfully floating about in an Edward-induced high. I had to race around like a lunatic, because somehow it was the busiest day of the year, but nothing could kill my smile. Even breaking off a cork in a very expensive wine bottle, in front of some very expensive looking people, didn't ruin my mood. A bunch of drunken handsy college boys who puked all over the toilets didn't make me cranky. Burning my fingers on a pre-heated plate didn't change a thing. Okay, well, that last one made me whip out some very elaborate curse words, but overall? I was happy enough that when the last guests had left, I even started singing along to the music, and I had built quite the reputation at The Rose for hating the four-CD-shuffle-system.

It was almost midnight when Edward, Tyler, Emmett and Eric left the kitchen and plopped down on the bar stools in front of me, looking dead on their feet. It had been ridiculously busy today. We had called in a few extra servers to help out during rush hour, but there was no such help for the kitchen crew, and I knew they had worked their asses off.

Not literally. Obviously.

I poured their standard after-work-beers while humming an old-school song that was currently playing. As I made my way over to the guys with the first two beers, I suddenly stopped short.

"I vote to remove this song from The Rose's music list."

Four sets of tired eyes looked at me like they were being tortured—mostly, I figured, because I was holding their alcohol hostage. Possibly also because no one was looking forward to another Bella rant, but hey, what can you do? People don't change overnight, and I was an opinionated chick.

"All right, I'll bite." Emmett sighed. "What's wrong with the song?"

"The lyrics."

"Isn't it kind of a romantic song?" Tyler asked, and my eyes narrowed.

"Romantic? Ugh! Have you even listened to the song?"

I opened my mouth to sing along just as the chorus started.

 _Keep on running, keep on hiding_

 _One fine day I'm gonna be the one_

 _To make you understand_

 _Oh, yeah, I'm gonna be your man_

"Yeah, like I said, romantic! He's in love with this girl and is promising, you know, that one day they'll be together!" Tyler argued.

"Uh oh," Emmett mumbled, sensing shit was about to go down.

 _Hey, hey, hey_

 _Everyone is talking about me_

 _It makes me feel so sad_

 _Hey, hey, hey_

 _Everyone is laughing at me_

 _It makes me feel so bad_

With an attitude ripe for Hollywood, I threw my towel down and put my hand on my hips. "He's literally singing about a girl that is running away and _hiding_ to get away from this creep, and he's basically saying, hey, you can run and hide, but it's all fucking useless, because I am a man and women don't have a say in this shit. Well, okay, that's not what he says, but what he's implying, like the girl he's singing about isn't allowed to say no, because everyone is laughing at him now, and it's making him _feel bad_. If someone in real life talked to me this way I would be creeped out and report him for stalking and threats. Romantic, my ass. It's about as romantic as that fucked up Baby It's Cold Outside Christmas song. Ugh."

My feminist lit class was really starting to seep through my everyday words. Huh.

Edward opened his mouth. "What's wrong with Baby It's-"

He was interrupted by Emmett, who clamped a hand over Edward's mouth. "Dude, do you really want another Bella rant right after this one?"

Edward grabbed Emmett's hand and removed it from his face. "Why wouldn't I want to listen to anything my girlfriend has to say?"

Ooooh. _Girlfriend_. Girrrrrlfriend. Nice. I liked the sound of that. How sweet is this man!

 _Swoon._

"Did you break her?" Emmett's fingers waved in front of my face, and I broke out of my daze and slapped them away.

"Fuck you, Em."

"That's your best comeback, Swan? I'm so disappointed."

"That's what she said."

Tyler snickered. Edward frowned.

"You've never made any _that's what she said_ jokes, have you?" I asked with a smirk.

He cleared his throat. "Ahem. Well, no. When I was cool back in the Mesozoic era, we only made jokes about our pet dinosaurs."

Eric looked up, completely confused. "You had a pet dinosaur?"

"Sure, Eric. Let's go with that."

"Okay." Eric shrugged and checked his watch. "I think I'm gonna go and catch the next bus home. It leaves in six minutes… It's a bit of a tight fit, but I think it'll be fine if I hurry."

"That's what she said!" Emmett and I yelled out simultaneously, because we're twelve-year-olds.

Eric looked confused, shrugged again, and walked out the door with a nod and a wave.

Mike and Jess reappeared at the same time, looking mighty disheveled. He had some lipstick on his ear, all the liters of gel he usually spread throughout his thinning hair were gone, and apparently their vigorous love-making had popped a button on his too-tight button-up. Jessica's mascara had left her lashes, instead forming panda-like circle pattern around her eyes. Her blouse was buttoned incorrectly, and I was pretty sure she'd been wearing a bra earlier.

Eh, who cared. It's not like it wouldn't have been obvious that they'd been screwing all night without the post-coital look. And at least now they could help with all the closing time cleaning and locking up.

Soon enough, we were all wiping, vacuuming, dusting and sweeping, checking post-mix equipment, cash registers and cabinet locks. Mike was playing boss again, standing around with a gin and tonic in his hands. All he actually did was point a finger at something that needed to be done and yell out who had to do it.

Such an amazingly competent leader. I could totally understand why Jess wanted to marry him. I was _this_ close to kissing his feet and professing my eternal love for him, myself.

Yeah, not really.

"Tanya, did you finish the register?" His Holy Potbelly bellowed.

"Yeah!" Tanya yelled back from her spot behind said register.

"Bella! All the floors clean?"

"Sir, yes, sir!" I hollered.

What? I couldn't help myself.

"Edward! Kitchen clean, everything in the back done?"

"Yeah, Mike. Kitchen's clean, as always, and the backside's closed."

Emmett and I locked eyes. "That's what she said!"

And that's the story of how a regular night at work ended up in hysterical laughter.

.

* * *

 **A/N The song is Keep on Running by the Spencer Davis Group, a well known classic with creepy as shit lyrics when you think about it the way Bella does here.**

 **Fic Rec of the day: Divine Black Rain by MissBreakingSanity. It's post-apocalyptic fantasy and it's SO well done it's sort of scaring me.** **It deserves more readers, so go be one. It's in my favorites for you lazy people. ;)  
**

 **Please send me your thoughts? I love hearing them.**


	13. Chapter 13: Edward's apartment

**Chapter 13**

I was doing some laundry. Again. In Edward's apartment.

I hadn't actually slept in my own bed in the past three weeks, and for reasons that made sense in my head, I refused to bring over more than three clean outfits. You know because, clearly, taking more than that would mean I'd be far too close to moving in with him. And something about taking things slow. I don't know.

Having no clean panties after three days got kind of annoying, though. Hence me walking around in nothing but an oversized button-up I stole from Edward's closet and doing laundry— -again.

Also, doing laundry, _alone_. Because it was my day off—no school, no restaurant, no tutoring job—but Edward still had to work, and he had unfairly used his words and lips (but mostly his lips) to convince me to stay at his place for the day.

"I love the idea of coming home to you," the smooth motherfucker had said, and then I swooned and caved because A- How could I not? And B- I was just going to do homework anyway, and while I had limited my pile of clothes, I _had_ brought over all the books I needed for classes.

The brightly colored walls provided a distracting environment as I plowed my way through two Williams who could not have been more different if they tried: Shakespeare and Burroughs. It was times like these that had me contemplating an entirely different major because, for the life of me, I could not bring myself to care about _Naked Lunch_ , an entirely random, seemingly story-less piece of drug-induced babbles. And something about a man who taught his asshole to talk.

And while I liked and appreciated Shakespeare, I really didn't feel like dissecting every single iambic pentameter he ever wrote and ponder all the possible meanings the words held.

Sigh.

Time for a break.

What to do, though? I had chatted with Alice, I had done my homework—well, some of it anyway—and I had done laundry. What I really wanted to do was call Edward, make him come home, and jump his bones because he did very nice things to my body, and I was a little insatiable. Obviously, that wasn't possible right now.

Meh, porn it is.

What?

I liked porn every now and then. Apparently, that's still taboo for a girl to say, but whatever. I liked erotic literature, but sometimes, I just wanted to _see_ some action. Hey, it's the twenty-first century; I can totally own up to watching porn sometimes.

I closed the empty Word document that was supposed to become a 2,000 word essay in the next forty-eight hours and curled up into the couch's comfortable cushions. I started clicking away on my laptop, quickly finding my way to a random site where I worked my way through a shit ton of obnoxious advertisements and found a video that did not have cumshots (eww) or teenage masturbation (eww again). I had learned not to click on random videos the hard way … all I can say is "triple penetration." Yikes.

Before clicking play, I turned off the volume. Now _that_ was a lesson I learned awhile back: videos like these tend to feature women who try very hard to break the fucking sound barrier with their moans and groans. Sorry, neighbors.

I skipped the first six minutes of _look, we're serious actors_ blah blah on the video like I'm sure everyone always does. If I owned a porn company, I would never waste time on making my actors pretend to be pizza delivery boys or plumbers or teachers. No, scratch that. Teachers can stay because that shit's hot.

Anyway. Skipping to the good stuff.

The guy was digging his face into the girl's crotch _very_ enthusiastically. Something I, with my newfound love of oral, definitely appreciated, so I sat back and enjoyed the … scenery. Well, you know. Wasting no time, my hand traveled to the bare skin below the button-up, teasing my clit lightly, like I was just slowly getting ready for the good stuff.

Then I heard a key being turned in a lock, and I was fairly sure we'd passed the hello-and-welcome stage in the video already. There was no other explanation: it must have been the front door. To Edward's apartment.

Oh, _shit_.

I couldn't see the front door from my position on the couch, but it was easy to hear the door opening. It took another second to register in my brain what this meant.

Someone was coming in.

Someone was two seconds away from walking into the living room where I was lounging on the couch, clad in only a man's shirt, watching porn.

Oh, _SHIT_.

Panicking, I jumped up, causing my computer to fall off my lap. It tumbled off the couch and landed on the floor with a _thump_ that made my heart stop for a second. Magically, it didn't stop working, and it was now lying face-up on the floor, with a close-up of a tongue licking a clit gracing the screen.

I tried my best to think quickly but ran out of time as I heard footsteps walk in the hallway. In mere seconds, someone would see me standing in the middle of the living room, barely dressed. There was nothing I could do about that. Except accept defeat.

The couch was probably enough to block an immediate view of the laptop from the doorway, but that wouldn't last long.

 _Shit. Think, Bella. Think!_

I may as well have hung an "out of order" sign on my brain. I just stared stupidly at the screen, which was still silently playing porn, but had now progressed to an impressive sixty-nine.

"Hello," a masculine voice called out, and I whirled around.

A tall man with shiny glasses, immaculately combed gray hair, and an equally immaculate three-piece suit stood in the doorway, giving me a head-to-toe once-over. I'd be sort of disgusted but I would totally do the same if I ever encountered anyone dressed in only a shirt, so I let it pass. His brows were furrowed in the exact same way Edward's tended to be when he was thinking. His cleanly-shaven jaw was as sharp as Edward's, and his eyes were just as green. He was like an older, dressed-for-the-office version of Edward.

Oh. _Shit_.

"Um … h-hi."

The man said nothing, as if he was waiting for me to introduce myself, but really, shouldn't it be the other way around? I mean, _I_ was already here. _He_ just barged in.

From the corner of my eye, I could see the video on my laptop had now progressed to a rough doggy-style. I glanced back and forth between the visitor and the computer screen, realizing that if he took a few more steps forward, I would be showing the man, who was probably Edward's father, a screen full of porn.

I tried to swallow my nerves away.

"And you are?" he finally asked, eyebrow raised.

 _Pshaaawww_ , trying to intimidate me, Mr. Suit?

I stood a little straighter while trying to tug down my one and only piece of clothing, covering as much of me as possible. "I'm Bella. And you?"

He mimicked my movements, also attempting to stand up straighter, but the man was already looking like his posture was modeled by a plank. "Carlisle Cullen. Edward's father," he stated and started to walk toward me, already stretching out his arm to shake my hand.

My eyes went wide as I watched him approach. I could _not_ let the laptop be seen. Instead of focusing on Mr. Cullen, I looked down, said a little silent prayer of safekeeping for my poor, poor computer, and in a fantastically coordinated move—especially for me—swiftly kicked it out of the way. It slid across the floor, and the screen disappeared beneath the couch. The keyboard, pointing upward, hit the bottom edge of the couch, halting all movements as the keys clashed against the wooden frame.

 _Please don't accidentally press the unmute button,_ I prayed. I composed myself just in time to shake Mr. Cullen's hand, fully aware the fingers that were touching my boyfriend's father had been stroking my pussy only a few minutes earlier. I tried not to visibly cringe at that thought.

And then, nothing happened.

We stood there. He was ignoring the fact I was a barely dressed girl hanging out in his son's house, and I was ignoring the fact he'd just barged in without even ringing the damn doorbell, at a time when his son would never be home anyway.

"So um … would you … like some coffee maybe?" I asked, trying to be polite.

"Yes, I'd like that," he replied, to my utter horror. Why wasn't he leaving? Who accepts an offer like that? He was supposed to say " _no thank you, I have to go now_."

"Um. Okay."

I didn't actually know how to work Edward's coffee maker. I tried to stay away from coffee these days, and Edward tended to be the one taking care of people, as if he had a server's gene that alerted him to everyone's needs before they knew they needed anything. Obviously, I lacked this natural ability. This was the first time Edward wasn't here to make coffee, and the machine looked very fancy and shiny and expensive, and, _Oh God_ , what if I broke it?

I pressed a button that had a little coffee cup drawn above it and wished for the best as Mr. Cullen made himself at home and plopped down on one of the bar stools.

The coffee machine made a grinding noise—a familiar one, the same one it made every morning when Edward made his coffee—and I exhaled in relief. I _had_ pressed the right button.

I just hadn't put a coffee cup underneath the damn thing.

Coffee splashed in all directions: drops hitting my bare thighs and Edward's pristine white shirt and the shiny expensive kitchen cabinets, and, oh God, this was a complete disaster.

I glanced at Mr. Cullen. He was still sitting on the bar stool with a blank expression on his face, thoughts completely indecipherable.

The coffee fountain finally came to an end, and I quickly grabbed a dishcloth to clean up the mess, carefully maneuvering my body into awkward crouching positions just to ensure I didn't accidentally moon or flash Mr. Cullen.

After quickly wiping away all traces of coffee, I found a cup—in only the seventh cupboard I tried!—and tried, again, to make a cup of coffee for a man I really didn't want to be talking to. _Okay, Swan, manners._ I turned around to face him, plastering an incredibly fake smile on my face.

"So, Mr. Cullen, it's nice to meet you. Edward didn't mention you'd come by today."

There. That was both polite _and_ making clear I wanted to know what the hell he was doing here.

"I came to borrow his drill. My wife's making me fix some shelves in the bathroom," he muttered, the picture of a husband annoyed with his wife's demands. Not really the way you'd want to portray yourself to someone you just met, but hey, no judging.

I nodded because what was I supposed to reply?

"So you're Edward's new girlfriend?"

The tone of his voice made it clear that he and Edward had not had a conversation about me. Great.

"Um, yeah?" No clue why that came out like a question. Or where my confidence flew off to, for that matter. Great first impression this was turning out to be.

"You know," he said slowly, as if he was really thinking about his words, "Edward's relationships always end quickly because of his long hours at the restaurant."

Say what now?

"Okay … I'm not sure how to respond to that. But really, I already know what hours he works. Hasn't stopped me so far."

"Do you think you'll be any different, really?"

My jaw dropped, and all I could do was emulate a fish and gape at him.

"What, do you have some rose-colored glasses that makes you think you've found true love, and you'll live happily ever after?"

I was fairly certain my eyes were about to pop out of my skull.

"Chances of that aren't very good, you know. But it's good to see a girl around here. I was beginning to think he was gay."

No words were forming in my brain, but it didn't matter; Mr. Cullen kept talking anyway.

"Anyway. You're squatting here now?"

My mouth snapped shut for a second at the realization there was a question in there.

"I'm not squatting, Mr. Cullen. Edward asked me to stay today, and since I didn't have to work, I agreed to study here instead of at my place. This apartment is a beautiful place to study."

"Ah." He nodded, seemingly pondering my answer. "So, you're a student?"

That seemed innocent enough. "Yes, I'm at UDub."

"So you're probably living in a cheap, tiny apartment while trying to work your way through college?"

I was beginning to have second thoughts about this line of questioning. "Um, yes …"

"So you're just using my son for his money, then." It was a statement, not a question, and nothing could have baffled me more.

"Excuse me?" My voice jumped an octave from the indignation I felt. "If I wanted a sugar daddy I would've gone out to find a fucking millionaire somewhere. I'm not sure if you got the memo, Mr. Cullen, but your son's a chef not a CEO, and this place isn't quite a mansion in Hollywood. Right now, you're insulting me, and if you think I'm going to let you just because your Edward's dad, you are very wrong."

He narrowed his eyes at me and waited a beat. "Yeah," he said slowly. "I like you."

That was unexpected.

"Well, if this is the way you show people you like them, I'm afraid I'm not going to be able to reciprocate those feelings." I had my hands on my hips, the most defensive posture I could think of, and I was glaring daggers at Mr. Cullen. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I'd like to take a shower, so if you'd please find the drill you need, I'll escort you out."

Cullen senior seemed to get the message and left the room to rummage through a closet in a guest room. He quickly returned, holding some kind of hand drill.

"You know," he said with a sad smile, "I'm really just looking out for my son."

I raised an eyebrow. "I can understand the sentiment but I strongly disagree with your methods. Good day, Mr. Cullen."

I didn't bother walking him to the door. I had pranced about in Edward's shirt long enough. It was time to end this conversation and take a shower.

Mr. Cullen nodded at me and left the apartment without another sound. I slid down to the floor right where I'd been standing, slumping down in an awkward position with my legs straight in front of me and my arms in my lap, pushing down the button-up just enough to cover up the lady bits. Not that there was anyone there to see them, and thank heavens for that.

I just needed some time to recuperate. What a mess.

Then, because today wasn't quite enough of a shit show yet, the door opened again, and a gangly teenage boy with pimples, thick glasses, and long skinny legs sticking out of work-out shorts walked in, yelling, "Dad, you here?"

He stopped short as he caught sight of me, eyes wide, mouth open. I saw his eyes travel to the nakedness of my legs and cleavage. He gulped, and in an automated action, his hands flew together to cover up his crotch. "I ... I'll come back some other time," he said as he turned around and promptly ran out of the apartment.

I should've known better to declare today a mess before it had a chance to get even worse.

Fuck my life.

 **A/N**

 **Book referenced (besides the obvious Shakespeare): Naked Lunch by William S. Burroughs. It really does contain a passage about a man teaching his asshole to talk (it grew teeth and everything). Incidentally, this book was my nemesis in Contemporary American Literature class.**

 **Last chapter I recced a story, that was then instantly flooded with horrible guest reviews, threats and insults. MissBreakingSanity took her story (Divine Black Rain) down to protect herself. It's now back up, prologue only, so please show there that this fandom is not just hatred, but also a lot of love.**

 **My new favorite story is Compass by . and it's not just because she messes with the idea of calling yourself Lotus, muahahaha. It's amazing and you should all read it.**

 **Last but not least, I have a new beta, Alice's White Rabbit, who is amazing and deserves a lot of credit for not only fixing my mistakes but making me understand them. As I say goodbye to Fran, I'd also like to use this opportunity to say thank you for everything, because she's done so much for me and I'm fairly sure that without her, 99% of you would not be reading this at all.**

 **See you soon(ish!)**


	14. Chapter 14: Groceries

**Chapter 14**

* * *

Have you ever had a laughing fit so intense you had to sit down, or worse, so bad you just fell over, unable to support your own body?

I couldn't remember the last time I had one of those.

For Edward, however, well, his latest one was currently in progress, and none of my evil glares would make him stop.

He'd started chuckling when I told him about the surprise visit from his dad. It progressed to full-blown laughter when I got to the porn and nudity parts.

He'd actually sat down on the floor, then laid back, literally rolling around in laughter, after the parts about the coffee disaster and my meeting his son.

"Stop!" He managed to force out in between laughs. "I can't take any more of this. Oh God, stop!"

So I stayed silent, giving him my best bitch brow and the standard evil woman pose—you know, legs apart, hands on hips, posture straight—but he was crying tears of hysterical laughter and wasn't paying much attention to me.

In all fairness, I could understand how the whole mess would be funny. You know, if it hadn't happened to me. Had it happened to Edward, I had no doubt I would be the one rolling around, laughing my ass off. So I cut him some slack, waited around for a few minutes until the laughter calmed down, and Edward managed to sit up straight again.

"I kind of hate you right now, by the way." I attempted a stern voice although it surely betrayed my amusement.

"I kind of love you," he replied without missing a beat. I narrowed my eyes at him.

"I kind of love you too, but I'm still getting my revenge. Just so you know."

I hadn't expected to say those words, hadn't expected to hear them, and yet, it felt right, as if it was just something we told each other every day.

As if in the span of a few weeks, we had morphed into an old married couple.

Huh.

Maybe I'd start calling him "dear" and telling him to eat his salad while he'd remind me to "take your medicine, honey."

Taking it slow, indeed.

Anyway. Back to reality.

Edward was wearing the most beautiful smile, like I'd just given him the world.

"You love me," he stated, and somehow, his smile never left his face, as if he'd suddenly become the world's best ventriloquist. Or as if the happiness that radiated off him wouldn't allow anything to ruin this gorgeous smile of his.

"That's what I said." Yeah, playing it cool, Swan. Ahem.

"That's _huge_!" he exclaimed and jumped up.

"That's what she said."

 _What_? I couldn't resist.

Edward shook his head, amused, and stalked toward me.

"You make me laugh."

"It wasn't intentional, trust me. I was actually trying to play the pity card." He took another step closer. I knew I was losing my feeble attempt to stay cool and collected and wasn't sure why I tried in the first place.

"I'll cook us dinner tomorrow, and I'll show you all the pity you wish," he said, still grinning.

I rolled my eyes but couldn't force my face to remain neutral, and a small smile popped up.

"Does that mean you'll stop this silly thing of keeping only three outfits here, and you'll just move all your stuff over tomorrow?"

"What?" That was a leap I hadn't expected. "Just because I love you doesn't mean I'm moving in with you right this second."

"I know," he said calmly. "I said tomorrow, not this second. Pay attention, Cookie."

The man was definitely insane but oh so irresistible when he was looking at me like that.

"What happened to taking it slow?"

Edward shrugged. "I love coming home and knowing you're there. I love waking up and knowing the little snores are coming from you."

"Hey! I do _not_ snore. If this is your way of winning me over, you should probably rethink your strategy."

He ignored me completely. "I love having someone to cook for on my days off, aside from my kids. I love the way you make me laugh, and I want to hear as much of your ranting as I possibly can. I love the image I had in my head of a wall in this house, a white one, covered in a brand new bookcase because you love to read, and I want to make this your home. I love you, Bella."

I sighed and tried to stealthily wipe a tear from my eye. The man had an annoyingly amazing way with words.

"I love you, Bella," he repeated. "And weren't you going to _do_ instead of think too much?"

"Hey, I told you that in confidence!" I sputtered, my last defense crumbling down. He did have a point.

"Your apartment is a shithole, sorry, and the only times you've been there in the past few weeks is to get more clean clothes and your books. You're really already living here; it'd just make it official and would save you rent. This is me appealing to your practical side, by the way." He winked at me and continued his speech.

"And, yes, it's fast. Much faster than the taking-things-slow thing. And, yes, there's an age gap, and we have different tastes and opinions, and I have kids and a job and you have college. And maybe, on paper, the odds of us working would be dismal, but it doesn't feel like any of that is relevant. Don't let fictitious odds keep you from following your heart."

Dammit.

"Ever thought about becoming a motivational speaker?" I sniffled.

"Is that a yes?" he asked with a hopeful smile.

"Damn you. Yes, it's a yes. But you're not getting off without revenge for that epic laughing fit you pulled there."

He pulled me into his arms with a beaming smile, no, a beaming _face_ really. The kind of face that lights up the entire room to such an extent you can't help but smile, too. "Looking forward to it, Cookie."

*.*.*

Our age difference didn't bother me much. He didn't look like a 36-year-old, anyway, and most people assumed correctly that we were just a regular couple. We treated potential awkwardness the way we did in the beginning: with a sense of humor. Edward faltered sometimes, apparently concerned his age would send me running. I had my ways of making him feel at ease ...

I thought it was hilarious that we watched the same kid's shows a decade or so ago, but in his case, it was as a parent. He tried to tease me about my great lack of knowledge about life in the eighties, but I knew, and promised him, I would one day turn it around on him if I ever got to see his kiddie photo albums. It was almost worth charming the uncharmable Carlisle for.

Anyway.

I did look younger than him, of course, especially today since he hadn't shaved. The stubble covering his jaw made him look rugged and older in the best way possible, and I'd jumped him the second we woke up.

We were being extraordinarily domestic today like the old married couple we sometimes were. There was something peaceful about walking through Walmart hand in hand, though. Not only did it feel right, but I was also shamelessly parading my boyfriend around, hoping to run into acquaintances in every aisle so I could introduce him.

Edward grabbed two handfuls of garlic and threw them in the cart.

"Holy crap, tell me you don't need all that for tonight."

"What?" he asked with a fake innocence. "I like garlic. I'm like the anti-vampire. Scaring everyone away with my horrible garlic breath."

He made a pathetic attempt at monster hands, playfully chasing me down the aisle with heads of garlic in his hands, grrr-ing and arrghh-ing like a tragically lame pirate monster, before stopping abruptly as he almost collided with another shopper.

"Edward Cullen! How marvelous to see you here, boy. I trust you're taking good care of my Rose."

Ah, yes. Instead of running into my friends, we only found one acquaintance of Edward's—a creepy slick guy with a gelled-up comb-over who introduced himself as Aro and then would not stop talking.

"And you are simply delightful, aren't you! I've heard so much about Edward's children; it's so good to finally meet one. Edward, we need to talk about the vegetarian options soon. I hear it's all the rage to be vegan these days, and the menu should reflect that. Bye now!"

As I watched him walk away, I was all confusion, and I turned to face Edward. He looked about as confused as I felt.

"So, that was Aro," he finally stated after a long silence.

"And Aro is?"

"He actually owns The Rose. It's why it's called The Rose—he wanted to call it Aro's. The story goes that his wife told him that sounded like 'a rose'—I believe she also called him the world's biggest narcissist, which may be true, but regardless, it ended up being named The Rose. Because as creepy and bossy as Aro is, he's never going to go against his wife."

"Well, that explains what he was saying about you taking care of his Rose. I thought he was talking about your daughter for a second, and I was very, very confused."

Edward laughed. "No, definitely the restaurant."

"Is he ever there? I've never seen him before."

"Not really," Edward mused. "He has a bunch of businesses, and doesn't particularly care about The Rose. He shows up sometimes to smoke cigars, count cash, and boss people around. I'll give you one guess how Mike acts during those visits."

I pondered that for a second. "Nervous, pants-peeing suck-up?"

Edward let out a chuckle and nodded. "Exactly that."

"Okay, so, most important question," I said seriously. He faced me and, seeing my solemn face, let his smile turn into a slight frown.

"What is it?" he asked, genuine concern evident in his voice.

I did a mental check for my most appalled tone. "Did this creeper Aro seriously just refer to me as your daughter?"

A most wondrous thing happened—Edward suddenly stood still, his eyes went wide, and a rosy color crept up from his neck to his cheeks.

"Oh. Uhh, I—I don't …"

He was the perfect embodiment of embarrassment, and I could no longer delay my laughter. I broke out in giggles. This was the perfect moment of age gap-related awkwardness, and I loved it. I loved Edward's reaction even more, and like a lightbulb went on over my head, I found my revenge.

"Man, you're evil today," Edward said as he slowly recovered.

"Is that so?" I asked, raising my voice. "Was I _naughty_ , Daddy?" I stepped away from him, ensuring that I'd have to speak louder and he wouldn't be able to catch me before my fun was over. "Are you going to spank me, Daddy? I've been such a bad girl!" I yelled.

Edward started chasing me for the second time in our shopping trip as other people stared at our very public display of idiocy. Well, _my_ public display, to be fair, but then again, Edward was running after me at full speed while I cackled loudly. I may have been enjoying myself a bit too much.

We ended up on both sides of a thigh-high freezer, predator and prey. I was in horrible shape, panting and out of breath. Pathetic, really.

Looking around, I could spot at least a dozen people who had stopped walking just to fully appreciate the spectacle that was Edward and Bella in the supermarket. "Bet you've never had a shopping trip this exciting, huh!" I yelled at no one in particular, giving Edward enough time to run around the frozen pizzas to catch up with me.

I yelped as his arms wrapped around my waist, lifting me off the ground. "Put me down, Daddy! I'll be good, I swear!" I laughed, and his hand wrapped around my mouth to finally shut me up. Not one to give up easily, I licked his fingers with the biggest amount of spit I could find in my mouth because I was apparently _really_ a spoiled child, and these were my most sophisticated battle tactics.

"Ahh, you're gross," Edward groaned and wiped his hand on my favorite top.

I deserved that, and I started laughing again at the ridiculousness of the situation. Edward still held me up with his one arm, and I started squirming to break free, ruining his balance. He took a step back, trying to stay upright, but it was hopeless, and we fell to the floor in a cackling mess of entangled limbs.

"Fuck, I love you," Edward whispered in my ear.

"I love you too," I replied and melted into his embrace on the dirty Walmart floor.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **This chapter is early because I'm celebrating the fact that we hit 500 reviews. Five hundred! My goodness people. I don't even know what so say. I love each and every review I get. Thank you so much for your kind words.**

 **This chapter is dedicated to MissBreakingSanity who let me borrow her reality for my fiction, and to my other online BFF snowflakelover, who's writing the snarkiest Bella ever and you should show her Ebony & Ivory (yeah, it's a biracial Bella, and it's hella interesting) some review luurrvee. **

**Thank you, Alice's White Rabbit, for teaching me grammar and fixing my mistakes.**

 **Thank YOU, for reading, and maybe I can even thank you later for leaving a review? ;-)**


	15. Chapter 15: The kids

**Chapter 15**

 **Because we hadn't quite run out of awkward meetings yet.**

* * *

A week after the disastrous first meeting with Edward's father, we planned a day that was supposed to act as sort of a do-over for the equally disastrous, yet thankfully brief, first meeting with Ben.

Turns out, Edward's son was a sweetie and completely unlike any fourteen-year-old boy I'd ever met. Awkward first-meeting-boner aside, it was really a pleasure to have him around. He wasn't a sulky, brooding teenager, wasn't trying too hard to fit in and be tough, and he wasn't aggressive or annoying toward me.

We got along famously from the moment I discovered he liked memorizing useless information as much as I did. I offered random song lyrics; he countered with movie quotes. I could list all US presidents chronologically, and he could recite Pi up to the fiftieth digit. We connected in mutual insanity. Edward watched our chats like a tennis match. Or like he expected to be watching a tennis match but instead stumbled upon a Quidditch game and had no idea what was going on. Good times.

"What's your favorite movie?" I asked him, trying to be the cool sort-of stepmom.

"Usually, _Fight Club_ , although I've kind of been in a _Kill Bill_ phase recently. Also, I just saw _The Usual Suspects_ for the first time last week, and that's definitely top three."

Huh. I was kind of impressed by his choices. "You're not even old enough to watch any of these movies. Edward, you're a horrible parent." I slapped his shoulder in mock offense. It's not like I hadn't seen R-rated movies before I was of age.

Hell, I remember sneaking downstairs to watch _It_ by myself one night when I was eight. Bad idea, by the way. I didn't end up with a fear of clowns, but I was absolutely hysterical every time I had to go to the bathroom or take a shower, feeling certain the creepy dude would be bubbling up with a shitload of blood when I wasn't looking. Of course, explaining this fear to my dad meant confessing I'd gotten out of bed to watch a scary movie, and that was just never going to happen, so I sucked it up and suffered in silence for a few months until my fears gently faded away.

"I'm an awesome parent, Cookie. Also, I'm not the one who let him watch these movies. Although, we did sneak into _Deadpool_ a few weeks ago. Totally worth it." Edward snickered and put his arm around me in a loving gesture that gave me all sorts of happy tingles inside.

I bet we looked like a stock photo family right now, happily strolling along the city's waterfront. Smiles on our faces, sun shining; all that was missing was pastel-colored polo shirts and khaki shorts.

"So what's yours, then?" Ben asked. He'd shown real interest in getting to know me, so we'd been bouncing questions back and forth. It was all perfectly innocent and perfectly adorable.

"My favorite movie? Depends on the day. I think today is a day for _The Princess Bride_."

Ben nodded and hummed in agreement.

"I've never seen that," Edward interjected.

Ben and I were equally astonished. "Inconceivable!" we gasped simultaneously, making Edward groan.

"You're going to annoy me to death by quoting that movie at me all day now, huh?" He clutched his forehead, pretending to be in pain.

"Life is pain," Ben instantly quoted. "Anyone who says differently is selling something."

"Ooh, nice one," I replied and gave him a high five.

"Seriously, you two. If you can't stop quoting this movie, I'm just going to reply with Monty Python jokes. I mean it."

"Anybody want a peanut?" Ben and I quoted together, like a well-rehearsed chorus, earning another grumpy mumble from Edward. He could groan and protest all he wanted, but I knew he was loving the fact that Ben and I got along so well.

"The saddest thing is: the first Monty Python quote that I can think of is 'your mother was a hamster and your father smelled of elderberries,' which would only be an insult to myself, really. So how's this—I will reenact 'The Ministry of Silly Walks' sketch in public if you don't stop," Edward threatened, and while I'd actually pay good money to see him imitate John Cleese, I figured I'd spare the 14-year-old son such embarrassment. "Please stop," he added with fake desperation.

"As you wish," I conceded and winked at Ben because I knew Edward wouldn't understand that was also a quote. Heh. Private jokes with the stepson. I am awesome.

"Mom!" Ben suddenly exclaimed, and I froze. I'm awesome, but not quite _that_ awesome, and I really don't want to be called mom by a kid only six years my junior.

But it wasn't directed at me.

About twenty feet ahead of us was a ridiculously overpriced hipster coffee shop with a large sidewalk seating area that was almost entirely empty. In one of the uncomfortable-yet-fashionable wooden chairs sat a woman with long, bleached-blonde hair, layers of makeup so thick I could see the foundation from where I was standing, and golden hoop earrings that reached her shoulders. She was wearing a very, very tight bright pink top with a neckline so low it made me think she wanted people to see her belly button from the top, and while her legs were mostly obscured by the table, I thought I saw a hint of pleather pants.

Did I mention she was also waving at us?

Edward pulled me closer to him as Ben walked ahead. "Um," he whispered in my ear. "So that's Maggie."

Maggie?

I cursed my lousy memory for not instantly recognizing the name, but the situation was fairly obvious without the backstory. This was the woman who shared several years with Edward. His high school sweetheart. The mother of his children.

And since Ben had already planted his traitorous teenage ass in a chair next to his mother, polite society demanded we stop by and chat and, perhaps, even join her, too.

Edward flashed me an apologetic look.

 _Ha! Yes, you should be sorry. The last family member of yours I met was your dad and that was a total disaster, and there's no way this is going to be anything but painfully awkward. Get me out of here!_

Alas, Edward's telepathy skills had not magically surfaced in the past few weeks, so we found ourselves sitting in a circle around a table made of oh-so-hipster colorful scrap wood.

"Maggie, hi," Edward said politely and gave her a hug as she stood up to greet him. Yup, pleather pants. Really tight pleather pants. "This is my girlfriend, Bella," he continued.

We awkwardly shook hands as Edward continued with a superfluous introduction of "Maggie, Ben and Rose's mother."

Yeah, I got that, thanks. Now can we please leave?

"It's nice to meet you, Bella. Do you guys wanna stay and have a drink?" Maggie asked, twirling around her own wineglass to illustrate said drinking activity.

I glanced at my watch to confirm that no, I wasn't going crazy, and yes, it really was only 10:30 AM.

"I'd like a Coke," Ben offered.

There was no way out now. I tried not to sigh out loud and ordered a cup of tea from the waitress, who was suddenly standing next to me in a tight lumberjack shirt and white suspenders unnecessarily holding up her skinny jeans.

I don't understand hipster fashion, but okay. Thanks to Edward's Monty Python threats, I started singing "He's a lumberjack and he's okay" under my breath. Edward held a fist in front of his mouth to cover up his chuckles then ordered a cappuccino.

Maggie protested loudly. "It's a beautiful day! Why don't you two have a glass of wine with me? We'll toast to the summer and to love and all that."

Now I've said that the age difference doesn't bother me, but no way in hell would I tell Maggie I was still a few months shy of my twenty-first birthday. Heh. Besides, "it's not even eleven in the morning yet" seemed like a solid enough reason not to drink alcohol, so both of us managed to respectfully decline.

Maggie talked a lot and constantly gestured wildly with her hands, making her dozens of shiny golden bracelets jingle noisily. I didn't think she was a bad person, though. Perhaps just a little too enthusiastic. She reminded me a little of an older version of Jessica, but I figured I'd keep that opinion to myself. I wondered what Edward saw in her all those years ago; Maggie and I seemed to be polar opposites.

I kept quiet for the most part, just observing the dynamic between these three people who were once united as a family. Maggie didn't seem to be threatened by me, and she and Edward obviously had a very casual relationship with each other. There was no hatred or hurt, no feelings of lost love that I could see, which was nice; my parents hated each other more and more as the years passed following their divorce, and I would've hated to see Edward act that way.

So, yeah, I was an outsider here, but I was … comfortable.

"Hi, guys, I'm so sorry," the woodchuck-waitress interrupted. "My boss just sent me to inform y'all that our credit card terminal isn't working at the moment due to some technical failure, so you can only pay by cash. Is that okay with you?"

A quick wordless eye-to-eye between all the adults at the table led us to the conclusion that none of us actually had cash with us.

"It's my treat," Edward the chivalrous knight said. "I'll go find an ATM. Be right back!"

Before I could protest—which I probably wouldn't have done because politeness and all that—he was up and away, walking briskly in the direction of where an ATM machine might be. I opened my mouth to say something, anything, but then Ben jumped up and said, "Hey, Dad, I'm coming with you!" and ran to catch up with Edward.

Leaving me at a table with Maggie.

Well, crap.

What should I say? _Hello, my boyfriend's ex. You mothered a cute son, even though he did get an embarrassing teen boner when I first met him._

Yeah, no.

 _It's interesting to meet you; can you please explain why you try to dress like an underage hooker when you're closing in on 40?_

Where was my "polite conversation with a stranger" button?

I could try to compliment something, but I was fairly sure "interesting" was the most positive adjective I could possibly use for anything she was wearing. I couldn't even say anything nice about her hair, which looked like it had given up several dye jobs ago and was now just accepting its death.

"Um …" I tried.

Maggie was currently inspecting her inch-long bejeweled zebra-print nails.

"You two made cute kids," I finally stuttered.

Maggie looked up from her seizure-inducing manicure. "I know, right! I totes would've made, like, a dozen more if he'd have let me. Tried to poke holes in the condoms once but, boy, that man is clever."

I almost spat out my tea. What the hell? "Um, what?"

She sighed dramatically. "Yeah. Didn't work though. I forgot I was still on the pill."

Huh?

This just kept getting weirder and weirder. "I'm sorry, but while we're on this incredibly inappropriate subject anyway, can I ask what were you doing with … Shit, I don't even know where to begin with this question."

To my surprise, she started giggling like a prepubescent school girl. "I know, I know. I was just sooooo silly back then." She waved an imaginary fan at her face. "It's just, a friend of mine gave me that advice, y'know? To poke holes in the condoms? So I went out and bought condoms and poked holes in them, but Edward was all confused why I'd want to use condoms anyway since I was on the pill. And I'm normally a really good actress, I swear! But I just couldn't lie to him." She sighed again, and my mouth dropped open from all the stupidity my brain had to process.

"You didn't just … stop taking the pill?" _Why are you asking these questions, Swan? Why aren't you just shutting up already?_

Another dramatic sigh followed, and I was starting to think Maggie lived for those. Either that or she was totally pulling my leg. I'd been here for fifteen minutes, and all the conversation she'd had with Edward and Ben was on a much higher level of sanity than this. It was shallow, sure, but not insane.

"Ithoughttheywerevitamins," she mumbled in record speed. "Anyway! Isn't today a gorgeous, beautiful day? It's really so lovely to meet you. There's no hard feelings between me and Edward, really. He's a wonderful man. I wish you well," she said solemnly and nodded three times for emphasis.

I didn't know what to make of this woman who could go from sheer idiocy—vitamins, really?—to being a reasonable and kind person in one breath. "Thank you," I mumbled, then I just vowed to stay silent until Edward and Ben returned.

Thankfully, it took only a minute or two of staring at my nails in uncomfortable silence before they came back, and I cleared my throat to attempt a natural smile.

"Hey, Cookie," Edward greeted me cheerfully. The man was a gem, but he was incredibly dense sometimes, and I bet he hadn't realized just how awkward this had been for me.

We made quick work of our goodbyes, needing to get home because Rose and her boyfriend were also joining us for dinner. I wasn't sure how much more tense socializing I could handle today, but Edward came with baggage, and I needed to grow the fuck up and accept that baggage.

Head held high, dammit.

*.*.*.*

"Okay, the L sort of looks like an L. All the others look like pretty squiggly lines to me, though. But I like it!"

Quickly adding to our bond of random knowledge, Ben was currently teaching me the Armenian alphabet because it was pretty, and why not? I would probably never find a use for it—I wouldn't even be able to locate the country on a map, which may have been more important knowledge, but … yeah, I had no real justification for this aside from "it's pretty and cool.".

Random knowledge for the win.

In exchange, I'd promised Ben I would teach him the Greek alphabet because, apparently, he was "collecting knowledge of the world's writing systems" as he said. So far, he'd only learned Cyrillic, Armenian, and a bit of Arabic.

I thought the whole undertaking was awesome and told him so. Rose scoffed at that and mumbled something that sounded like "ridiculous hobbies that boy has" like she wasn't insulting her own brother.

Ah, Rose. While Edward prepared dinner and Ben and I shared foreign letters with each other, Rose and her boyfriend Royce had plopped themselves on the couch, limbs entangled, and then just _sat there._

They didn't watch TV. They didn't talk to each other or engage in conversation with anyone else. They just sat, cuddling so obnoxiously it was crossing PG-13 territory, and occasionally sharing some loud smacks and tongue-filled kisses. Aside from that, they were entirely immobile. Rose had greeted me kindly when she'd walked in, but Royce had only done this manly nod-greeting, a non-verbal "What's up" kind of thing that I didn't know how to respond to. I hadn't actually heard his voice at all so far, and we'd been sitting around for a full hour.

It was only four years ago that I myself was sixteen years old, but I felt like I may as well have been a senior citizen leaning on my walker saying, "tut, tut, today's youth" and shaking my head.

SMH, people.

Heh, at least I knew the lingo of today's youth.

"Hey, Cookie, can you get the plates?" Edward called out from the kitchen.

The two teenage sloths on the couch moved infinitesimally. "Why does he call you Cookie?" the female sloth known as Rose asked.

Um. Because I sang "I'm the root of all that's evil, but you can call me cookie," but that was between me and him, and while not exactly R-rated, it wasn't something I was willing to share with anyone else.

"Because she's sweet like one, of course," Edward answered for me with an obnoxious wink. Rose snorted in a way that was almost, but not entirely, offensive and laid her head back on Royce's chest.

Dinner was served, a relatively simple casserole dish that smelled divine.

"So I cook for dozens of people every day," Edward pondered out loud, "and yet that's always easier than cooking for these two." He pointed his fork at his kids. "They don't eat much that isn't pizza or pasta."

Rose rolled her eyes.

"Rose doesn't eat anything anyway, in fear of losing her thigh gap," Ben stated. Rose's eyes narrowed.

"How's the kiddie boner, Ben?"

Edward, Ben, and I stilled our movements and looked up at Rose simultaneously. Royce ignored his surroundings, slowly lifting another forkful of food to his mouth while keeping his eyes fixed on his plate. Smart man.

"What are you talking about, Rose?" Edward asked, which made me pause because I sincerely doubted he would want to hear her answer.

"Oh, my God, Rose, shut up," Ben attempted to growl, but his voice broke on the last word and it ended up sounding more like a squeal.

"You know, Dad," Rose continued, ignoring her brother, "when he walked in on your girlfriend last week. That must have been so horrible for you, Ben. I really empathize." She placed her hand over her heart in sympathy that was about as real and natural as Kylie Jenner's lips.

Edward turned to face me, the question written all over his face. Yeah, in the retelling of my day of horrors, I had mentioned seeing Ben but had left out his predicament because I am not a mean person. I wasn't sure how Rose knew, but there was no question she was using this moment to bring out her bitchiness.

This shit was going to hell in a rocket launcher, and I silently begged Edward to fix this before both Ben and I got caught up in massive embarrassment and a bitch fest between siblings broke out.

Edward, sadly, had still not mastered the art of telepathy.

"Ben walked in on you watching porn? I thought only my dad did."

Oh, Edward. I hid my face in my hands and groaned as Rose started to cackle.

*.*.*.*

After a mortifying second half of dinner, all the kids left, and Edward apologized for ten minutes straight.

"You really threw me under the bus there, Mr. Chef. Twice today! And I was trying to make a good impression on your kids. You're lucky I love you."

Edward beamed. "That I am, Cookie. That I am."

I let him take me into his arms, forgiving him. I was already the queen of awkward encounters; he kind of fit into my life perfectly.

My phone beeped with an incoming text, and I broke the embrace to check it because, hey, priorities. Quickly glancing over Alice's words, an evil grin graced my face as I looked up at Edward.

"I've found the perfect revenge."

Edward's brows shot up to his hairline, and he looked just a little afraid of me. Good. Heh.

"You're meeting Alice tonight."

*.*.*

 **A/N**

 **Woosh that took a while. Words wouldn't come. Meh. Anyone looking forward to Edward meeting Alice? Especially on a day like this when he's screwing up most social situations anyway? ;)**

 **Thanks to my posse:**

 **The ladies of Vagville: Snow Swan and Miss Breaking Sanity. Thank you for your insanity.**

 **Alice's White Rabbit, awesome beta that you are.**

 **Reviews are love. Or hate, but still. Leave me your words.**


	16. Chapter 16: EPOV

**Chapter 16**

 **NOTE: it's EPOV !**

* * *

"Okay. We have a ten-minute ride ahead of us. Please prep me for this."

Bella just smirked at me. "You're actually scared, aren't you? You are pissing your pants about meeting tiny little Alice."

Nuh-uh. I was an adult, dammit.

Okay, that didn't sound too adult-like in my head.

Fuck. Okay. Bella was right. I was freaking out about meeting her best friend and her best friend's boyfriend. But, in my opinion, she'd presented it as revenge for the mess I'd made today in leaving her alone with Maggie and throwing her under the bus with my kid's present.

And, yeah, I shouldn't have talked about the porn thing in front of her children. My bad. I understood that now.

Alice must be a demon from hell if meeting her is the perfect revenge, _and_ she's Bella's best friend, so there's no way I could win here.

What if she thinks I'm a stuffy old dude? Too old for Bella?

We've passed the stage where that kind of opinion would matter, though. Bella's moving in with me. _Has_ sort of moved in with me already. It's been almost a week since she's even been to her place and that was only to pick up some more stuff. Slowly but surely, my apartment is filling up with Bella's things.

Well, not actually filling up. The woman was living in a closet-sized room, and aside from her books and her clothing, she didn't actually own much of anything. She didn't have any piece of furniture she wanted to bring. Her bed and wardrobe weren't needed, so she sold those, and that was all the furniture she owned. There was nothing big enough that would actually make a mark on my—our—apartment, that could be showcased as Bella's, except for a few boxes filled with books.

But we did plan to paint the walls together. I hated the idea of the apartment looking like mine instead of ours, and repainting the colorful mess was the right step. Surely, though, there were other ways to make her feel at home? I'd have to brainstorm a bit.

Bella cleared her throat.

What were we talking about again?

"You're scared of Alice," Bella helpfully repeated. I knew _I_ was a pretty good mind-reader, but apparently, so was Bella.

"I'm not scared," I stated, puffing out my chest a bit. "I'm a thirty-six-year-old man. I can handle a girl who's barely out of her teens."

Bella shot me a bitch-brow look that made me want to disappear. "Ahem. I mean, you're the exception, obviously. You're really mature and not at all like a girl fresh out of her teenage years. And I love you?"

The bitch brow rose higher, accompanied by a satisfied smirk.

"You're evil," I muttered and turned my attention back to the road.

We were meeting Alice and her boyfriend in a café I'd never heard of. It was called Felix Caelo, which I thought was a very odd name for a café. I'd always been taught any business should have a name that is easy to recognize, remember, and pronounce, and this shit had none of that. I didn't even know what language it was. I already had my doubts about this place, and I hadn't even parked my car yet. But Bella claimed she "absolutely adored" it there, and I was far too much under her spell to do anything but follow her.

Bella started getting … well, giddy, I guess, when we reached the café. Bouncing a little in her seat, grinning wide, one hand ready to unfasten her seatbelt and the other already on the door handle.

Weird.

I shrugged it off and got out of the car, jogging to keep up with Bella, who had already speed walked away from me, stopping in front of a storefront that was painted a weird minty green with black polka dots. My colorful apartment was nothing compared to this. I raised an eyebrow at Bella, silently questioning, but she ignored me and hopped inside with obvious excitement, so I shrugged and followed her through the polka dot doors of the oddly named café.

The interior walls were covered in the same mint green and black polka dot pattern, so busy it hurt my eyes. One wall was different, completely covered in picture frames filled with … cat art? Painted silhouettes, cartoon cats, a Le Chat Noir rip off, Aristocats.

Cat art. Bella's odd excitement about entering a café. Felix Caelo, as in Felix the Cat.

Uh oh.

Forcing myself to stop staring at the wall of cat art, I looked around the small café filled with retro booths, quaint little whitewash tables and fixed-up vintage chairs. A woman with a gray cat in her lap. A red cat with a wonky tail begging attention, head-butting another young woman's ankle. Two black cats cuddling up in a fluffy cat bed. A tabby cat jumping into one of a long line of cardboard boxes that acted as room dividers.

Certain that my face reflected the feelings of horror I was experiencing, I faced Bella wordlessly. The antithesis of myself, excitement and happiness radiated off her.

"Isn't it awesome?" she squeaked.

"It's a cat café," I deadpanned, finding my most solemn facial expression.

"Like I said," Bella countered, not impressed, "isn't it awesome?"

"I'm allergic."

Bella's face fell. "Oh, my God, I hadn't even thought of that. You're allergic to cats, really?"

I rolled my eyes. "No." I just wasn't a big fan of cats, and she was so easy to mess with. Heh.

"You suck." She pouted, equal parts childish and adorable and sexy as hell, which was confusing to me, so I solved it by planting my lips on that confusing pout.

Alice and her boyfriend, whose name I could not remember though I'd been trying for days, weren't here yet, so we found ourselves a booth. It was somehow just as fake-vintage as the rest of the place with brown corduroy seats. With all the cat hairs in this place, the fabric didn't make a lot of sense to me, but what did I know? It's not like I'd ever want to run a friggin' cat café. The insanity.

"Watch out!" Bella yelled as I moved to sit down. What? "You almost sat on that cutie pie there!" She pointed at a ball of fur that was sleeping right where I'd wanted to sit down. Nasty thing was completely camouflaged, as poop-brown as the seat it was lying on.

"Whoops," I said. "Good catch. I don't think the owners of this, ahem, lovely establishment would take kindly to people sitting on their … residents."

Bella rolled her eyes. "Admit it. You love it."

She seemed to be convinced that all humans must love cats. I was and would always be a dog person, but I was smart enough not to start that discussion right now, in the lion's den so to speak. The damn felines might start to organize a rebellion if I uttered the word "dog" in here.

The brown furball I'd gently sat next to instead of on top of woke up, stretching its limbs until its paws touched my jeans, then it curled up its nails, digging them straight into my leg.

"Ouch!" I yelped. Yeah, I yelped. I'm not proud of it, but what can you do? Cat nails hurt like a bitch. Nails still digging into my leg, the cat lazily moved to a standing position, yawning widely to show us a mouth that was missing a few teeth. It shook his head as if willing itself to wake up then looked up to stare at me with incredibly ugly, cross-eyed, yellow cat eyes.

I stared back.

I was seriously having a staring contest with a stupid, fat, diarrhea-colored cat.

Enough of that, I thought, and shook my head to clear my thoughts. From the corner of my eye, I could see Bella looking at me with an amused smirk on her face. I was just about to comment on that when the staring-contest cat stepped on my upper legs, planted its front paws on my stomach, and plopped down in my lap, where it promptly fell asleep again.

"That is absolutely adorable," Bella whimpered. I strongly disagreed.

"It's like I have a giant, purring turd on my lap. How in the world is that adorable?"

"Oh, come on! He likes you! It's the sweetest thing."

I had nothing to reply to that but opened my mouth to try anyway when Bella suddenly jumped up and started squealing like a middle-schooler. Walking in our direction was a tall blond dude dressed in all black, and a tiny little bit of a human with short purple hair and an orange dress. The tiny one let out shrieks to accompany Bella's squeals, so I figured it must be show time.

The two girls hugged for an inordinate amount of time, so I locked eyes with the dude, and we did our manly nod-greeting.

"Edward, this is Alice and her boyfriend Jasper. Guys, this is Edward. He can't get up to shake your hand right now because his lap has been claimed by one of the kitties, so you'll have to forgive him for that."

"Oh, isn't that just the sweetest thing ever!" Alice said in a sort of sing-song voice, the kind that people use when talking about other people's babies. You know, like, "Awww, he's adorable!" and then they coo and pinch the baby's cheeks?

I really wanted to send her a death glare, but mine weren't as good as Bella's so it would probably not even be effective, and I had promised I'd try to be nice, so I said nothing and faked a smile.

"It's really nice to meet you, Alice." I politely offered her my hand to shake, but she ignored it, tilting her head and staring at me through narrowed eyes, as if trying to figure out the answer to a math problem.

"You don't _look_ like a pervy, ancient Hefner wannabe."

I would've spit out my drink if I'd had one. Where was the waiter anyway? I was in desperate need of a beer.

"Thanks, I guess. You don't come across as much of a sane person, but Bella's assured me you are, so I guess looks are still deceiving in some cases."

Bella stood still, watching the two of us with a vague look of horror on her face as Jasper calmly walked past her and took a seat in the booth.

"Tell me, Edward," Alice said. "How does Viagra work? I've always wanted to know, but I wasn't going to ask my own grandpa and Jasper doesn't need it, of course."

Oh, shit was on now.

"I'd say Bella can attest to the fact that no enhancements of any kind are necessary."

"Oh, you mean you haven't even fucked yet?"

"Have you _seen_ her limping?"

"That's not actually a denial of my question, so I'm just going to assume you couldn't get it up. It's okay; it's bound to happen in older men."

"Is that so, tiny? How many of those have you had in your bed, then, to make a statistical observation like that?"

I had no idea why the hell this tiny fury was so angry with me, but I wasn't going to sit back and take it. Judging from Bella's shell-shocked expression—and the fact she was still standing motionless at the head of the table, looking from me to Alice and back—told me she, too, wasn't expecting this shitstorm.

A bubbly blonde waitress in a skin-tight black T-shirt with a white cat drawing on it interrupted us. "Hi, guys, my name is Amanda, what can I get fo—"

"No. Later," Alice said with the intonation of a horror movie axe murderer, making poor Amanda scurry off in fear.

The tiny psycho had not yet retaliated, so I grabbed the opportunity to steer the conversation away from the insult-fest. "Wanna tell me why you're acting like you're in a verbal gladiator fight?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "Bella texted me a whole bunch of times about what happened today."

Oh. Ohh. The Maggie thing. The meeting the kids, and the porn comment, and her mortification on both accounts.

"Jesus, Alice." Bella groaned as she finally sat down next to me. "Just because we've had a weird ass day and I freaked out does not give you the right to go all Freddy Krueger on him."

Jasper shrugged in what seemed like a quiet sort of agreement. I faked calmness by petting the ugly cat on my lap.

"Really, Cookie, you go with Freddy Krueger when you could've gone with Chucky and combined it with a short joke?"

That earned me a double glare from both women, but Jasper quietly chuckled in the corner. I was happy for him that Alice didn't notice; surely, siding with me wasn't going to earn him any brownie points with his girlfriend.

Alice sighed. "Bella, is he treating you right? Fucking you the right ways?"

This girl severely lacked any form of filter or boundaries, but Bella seemed used to it. "Ali, sweets, don't act like we haven't already discussed this in great detail over the phone. You know he's really good to me. You know he's got a fucking magic monster cock. You—"

"Oh, I'm… um, I'm so sorry for interrupting. Still not a good time?" the poor waitress said with a red face.

"Four beers, please," I quickly ordered, eager to change the subject. As ego-stroking as this was, I didn't particularly want Bella to talk about my cock in a public place.

"Can I see some ID for you three?" Amanda asked, pointing to the others because not only was I the only one who was clearly not underage, they actually weren't allowed to drink legally.

Oops.

"Ahem," Alice piped up. "Let's make that three Cokes and a beer, please?"

Bella started giggling, which she seemed to do any time the age thing came up in a potentially awkward manner. I thought it was adorable, and it did always help to relieve the tension. It worked this time, too, and soon, all of us at least had smiles on our faces.

The bloody battle of wits between Alice and me seemed forgotten, and a happier conversation filled with oversharing started. Within ten minutes, I'd learned just what sexual position was Alice's favorite this week and what body parts Jasper had pierced.

Not that Jasper volunteered this information, though. He seemed to communicate exclusively through facial expressions, which he did in an amazingly effective way. The dude had facial muscles like Jim Carrey's, seriously. He just sat in his corner of the booth, oozing calmness and peace, yet nodding and smirking and rolling eyes. His body was completely still, with the exception of his left hand fingers, which were slowly tapping a rhythm on a coaster, and his right hand, which was … not on the table. Not in any place we could see it. His arm was stretched out at an inconvenient angle, disappearing beneath the table toward Alice's—

My eyes snapped up toward the evil midget. She met my stare with a smirk and a wink then made a show of sinking back into the booth's walls and relaxing with her eyes closed. I watched, both repulsed and in awe, as she calmly continued her conversation with Bella.

"Did you hand in your paper for Gothic Lit yet?" Alice asked Bella. Gothic Lit? What the hell was that? Whatever.

"Ah, yes, let's talk about _hands,_ and what they can do," I groaned, earning me a confused look from Bella.

"Um, not yet." Bella turned back to Alice. "I have to look up some more Poe quotes."

"Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered, weak and weary," I mumbled. I didn't want to interrupt their conversation, but mentioning Poe was like Pavlov's damn bell, and I couldn't stop myself.

The conversation stopped. Alice's hands, ready for another sentence filled with arm-flailing and gesturing—she, I had learned, was a very passionate sort of speaker—hung motionless in the air. Bella opened and closed her mouth silently. Jasper just blinked, barely moving, but his arm was still under the table doing God knows what to Alice's privates.

"What?"

"Did you seriously just quote Edgar Allan Poe at me?" Bella asked.

"Well, yeah. So?"

"Um. It's just … not every day someone quotes poetry." She stumbled a bit over her words.

"My grandmother was a fanatic. Made me memorize a whole bunch of things from Shakespeare to Poe." I shrugged. It wasn't a big deal to me; being able to take a dozen ingredients and make an edible meal out of it seemed like a far more useful skill to me. I was just smart enough not to say that out loud in the presence of my Lit-major girlfriend.

"I thought you told me he hated reading," Alice said, addressing Bella, because why would she bother talking to me? Whatever. I'd answer anyway.

"I'm fairly sure any kid who had to memorize Shakespeare sonnets at age ten would learn to hate reading. Can we move on now?" I absentmindedly stroked the cat that was still snoring on my lap. He may have drawn blood earlier, but I was beginning to like him. He was an ugly, fat, cross-eyed monster of a cat, but it was kind of soothing to have a big furball snore on your lap in absolute bliss. Maybe we should consider getting a cat after all.

"Hey, but Ali—" Bella was interrupted by an obnoxiously loud moan coming from the midget herself. From the corner of my eye, I could see Jasper looking smug. Alice had her eyes closed, hands gripping the table as the sounds of what was clearly her reaching her orgasm continued to fill the air. It was one long, dragged-out moan, like a mooing cow sound played on half-speed, that suddenly turned into a high-pitched squeal that startled all of us involuntary onlookers.

It also startled the cat, which abruptly woke from its peaceful slumber and jumped a foot up in the air, before landing—all paws stretched and nails out—on my chest.

"Fu—aaaarrrrrghh!" I yelled as I once again fell victim to the sharpness of the cat's nails and realized how lucky I'd been earlier with a lazy, barely awake cat and the protection of my jeans. This, a cat stuck to my chest through the thin fabric of my T-shirt, hanging on by its nails for dear life, was torture. I froze, a logical but not very effective reaction, as the cat realized it could not stay stuck to me this way and began clawing and grabbing its way through my flesh in its quest for safety.

Bella sprang into action. She jumped up and extended her hands to what? Grab the cat off me? I doubted anyone could just grab an insane and aggressive cat like that. I was under attack, dammit. It took all my energy to shield my face as well as I could with my hands while simultaneously trying to keep myself from screaming (more than I already had, that is). Bella attempted to grab the cat but quickly got swiped by the damn devil's nails.

Finally, one of the waitresses came running, protective gloves on, and wrapped her hands around the cat's belly. Pulling it off me in one go didn't work as its nails were dug firmly into my skin, so she gently and patiently extracted each paw from my chest until I was finally free.

Bloody, but free. My T-shirt was torn to shreds, the white fabric filled with holes, scratches, and an alarming amount of bloody patches that hurt like a bitch.

Cross-eyed demon cat from Hell calmed down in the arms of the waitress and head-butted her shoulder, purring like it was instantly back in Heaven.

If there was any time to use Bella's favorite word: "clusterfuck,", today would definitely be it.

"Whoosh," Alice said happily. "That was totally the most intense orgasm aftermath I've ever experienced."

"You're an evil monster in a tiny package," I said. "I like you."

She beamed, a wide smile gracing her face. "I like you too. You're a bit bloody now though. Might wanna get that cleaned up." She added a wink for good measure. Midget totally knew it was her fault I was so battered in the first place.

"Definitely," Bella practically purred in my ear. "We need to get you home and nak— I mean, in the shower. I'll take care of you, baby."

How about that. Today's not all bad after all. I quickly stood up to follow her home. Anything to speed up the process of getting out of this hellhole.

"We're never getting a cat, by the way."

* * *

 **A/N so um that took a while. Bella didn't want to talk but then Edward did, so yay, surprise EPOV. Hope you like. I was going to make them adopt the poop-colored cat but that didn't work out so well now did it?**

 **Felix is Latin for cat, Caelo means heaven. Cat Heaven. Heh.**

 **Thanks as always to Alice's White Rabbit, who betas the shit out of my punctuation and other mistakes I make, and to the support of my two crazies Booty & Baby.**

 **Finally: I try to respond to reviews. Except for last chapter b/c the reply option didn't work and I got frustrated. Each and every review is loved & appreciated though! **

**PS: Sorry if I grossed you out with this chapter. Yes, Alice and Jasper were a little disgusting. I've done worse, but hey. They'll redeem themselves if you stick with this fic ;)**


	17. Chapter 17: Cupcakes

**Chapter 17 - Amends and Plans**

 **For everyone who hated Alice & the previous chapter *waves* let's see if she can redeem herself, no? **

**Miracle worker Alice's White Rabbit beta'd.**

* * *

Alice was pouting on the other end of the phone line. I couldn't see her, of course, but I knew her well enough.

"But I did say I was sorry!"

Yep, definitely pouting.

"To me, yes. But I've known your brand of crazy for years. You don't release your inner perv on someone you've just met, you nympho." I shook my head. The cat café had been slightly awkward but overall pretty enjoyable to me until Alice made a weird sound that caused the cat on Edward's lap to go ballistic and attack him. It wasn't until later, waiting to be discharged from the ER, that Edward clued me in on why Alice was impersonating a cow in the middle of our conversation.

Fucking crazy-ass nympho. There we were, all nervous about my friend and my boyfriend getting along, and she unleashes her inner psycho. Ugh.

"I thought we were being stealthy!" she whined.

"Edward told me you _winked_ at him when he realized what you were doing."

"Right. Well. That's um … true. I did say I was sorry, right?"

I sighed. She was my best friend, and it was hard not to forgive her instantly, but I had a very clear memory of seeing Edward's chest looking like he'd just been attacked by a vicious monster—which I suppose in a way he had been—so she'd need to put a little more effort into this.

"Did I mention I'm baking?"

That got my attention. Alice was a magnificent baker; good enough that everyone—including Alice—wondered why she was even in school because she would be the best damn professional baker ever. "Tell me it's chocolate."

"It's chocolate. I also made some salted caramel cupcakes in case your Mr. Chef doesn't like the chocolate pie. And a bunch of other stuff."

I wiped a little drool off my chin. Must not give in so easily. Must. Not. "He has a name, you know."

"I know," Alice chirped. "I wasn't being condescending. I just liked it as a nickname. No good? Consider it trashed and forgotten."

Right. "So, you're coming by work later?"

"Yep! I'll stop by in an hour or so to drop off the baked goodies."

"And …"

She sighed loudly. "And to explicitly apologize to your guy for my inappropriate behavior yesterday."

Damn right she was.

We hung up and I tucked my phone away in my bag. Technically, calling during a shift was against the rules—unless you're Mike. Mike does what he wants, but I hadn't had a chance to talk to Alice yet after last night's mess. Waiting for a doctor to clean Edward's wounds, and the seven stitches that followed, took an amazingly long time, and it was the middle of the night before we got back to his place. I mean our place. Whatever. Either way, we slept in 'til almost noon and then both of us had to rush for our shifts at The Rose.

I thought seven stitches from cat-inflicted chest wounds warranted a sick day, but apparently, Edward is not one of those guys who claims they're dying when they stub their toe, and he insisted that nothing was wrong.

Missed out on a whole day of being pampered by his own private nurse, that one.

Alas, here we were, ready for yet another day in the exciting life of a lousy waitress. There were only three reservations, and nothing particularly interesting was happening in the neighborhood either, so we were expecting a slow night. Just Edward and Emmett in the kitchen. Just Jess and me waitressing. Wait. Jess and I, Jess and me? Ugh. Why in the world was I majoring in English literature? I needed to find a new major, stat.

It was early yet—only 4 PM, a no man's land between lunch and dinner. Unless there was some big event happening, it was usually the quietest time of the day for the servers, and I took advantage by leisurely setting the tables. Jess was lighting the candles at a snail's pace. Both of us were as fast as a turtle stuck in the mud. In the kitchen, however, this was the time to prepare everything. They made soups, decided on meals of the day, cleaned the entire kitchen, stocked the fridge, counted the stock, and did God knows what else while us servers simply enjoyed the quiet. It would be nice, I thought, if Alice could get here fast, then we'd have some time for a chat before rush hour started.

The second I thought that, the door opened. It wasn't Alice who walked in though—it was a mighty pissed off Rose.

"Um, hi, Rose," I said with all the eloquence of a toad.

Her head snapped to face me with such speed and anger I thought I needed to call an exorcist. I actually took a step back, somehow afraid of this sixteen-year-old.

"Is my Dad here?" she growled through clenched teeth.

"Of course. He's a bit busy right now though," I said in my sweetest voice. "Why don't you sit down for a sec, calm down, and I'll go see if he can come out to you?"

She narrowed her eyes at me but gave me a quick nod and sat down on one of the bar stools. I felt like I had just acted as a hostage negotiator and let out a sigh at my own success as I quickly used the restaurant's fancy-in-the-eighties intercom system to summon Edward.

"Okay, so, drinks?" I said. Again with the eloquence.

"Can I get a gin and tonic?" she asked, completely blasé and not even looking in my direction.

I was a little taken aback. "Um, well, no. You're sixteen."

Instantly, her eyes were on mine, full of fire and hatred. "What are you, my mom? Jesus."

Oooh boy.

I knew Rose was just an angry, hormonal teenager, but shit, I was barely out of my teens, how the hell was I going to handle that?

"Um, no, I know, but … um." Fuck, where were my words?

Just then, Edward walked out of the kitchen, looking sinfully hot in his black chef's coat with the sleeves rolled up. Well, hot until you looked at the pants, that is. I hadn't gotten over my aversion to the chef's pants yet; pajama pants were hotter than this crap.

I digress.

"Hey, sweetie," Edward happily greeted Rose, completely ignoring the thunderous look on her face. "What's up?"

"Royce broke up with me," she snarled, and I could swear she said in it a tone that implied that was somehow Edward's fault.

Edward thoroughly disliked the PDA-lovin' teenage boyfriend of his daughter but managed to hide it well. "That's … really sad, hon. What happened?"

"Fucker dumped me because I wouldn't put out. Asshole."

"Um," Edward mumbled, clearly trying to find words. "First of all, watch your language." I quirked an eyebrow at that; if he was such a stickler about cussing he should really find himself a different girlfriend while he's at it. Heh. "Second, you're absolutely right, what a fucking asshole." Oh. Okay. That was more like the Edward I knew.

Emmett walked out of the kitchen in our direction. I could see the moment he spotted Rose because suddenly he walked a little straighter and a little faster, ran a hand through his short curly hair, and he had the biggest grin on his face.

"I'm proud of you, Rose, for doing the right thing," Edward said and gave his daughter a hug.

"Yeah, well, whatever," Rose grumbled. "I hate men. All men. All men are freaking ASSHOLES!"

Emmett, who was just about to close the final distance to his boss and the object of his affection, heard Rose's outburst. He stopped short, erased the grin off his face, and quickly turned around to tiptoe back to the kitchen. Edward and Rose were none the wiser.

"Yes, they are, amen to that!" came a voice from the other side of the room.

"Alice, great timing, weird choice of words," I greeted my friend, reminding her that perhaps "all men are assholes" was not the sentiment to stick to when you're coming to make peace.

Alice seemed to think that over for a second. "Good point. Hi, I'm Alice! Oh, wow, I love your shoes!"

Rose gave the newcomer a once-over and smiled for the first time since walking in. "I love yours, too. And I'm Rose."

"Ah," Alice said dramatically, putting a hand on her chest. "I can tell you and I will get along just great. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go suck your da—I mean, suck up to your dad. We'll talk."

I watched incredulously as Rose hugged Alice, all smiles and happiness. Two freaking minutes and Alice had charmed her way to Rose's approval, and I couldn't even find words to say to the girl. Dammit.

Alice hopped over to Edward. She bowed her head just a little bit, looking up at him in a way that maximized her puppy dog eyes, and did a little curtsey as she offered him the big white box in her hands. "A peace offering, kind sir," she announced in a British accent as lousy as mine.

Edward looked at the girl who was trying hard to resemble some kind of purple-haired fairy tale character, frowned, and looked at me for clarification. I snickered. Like I was going to help with this. It was way too much fun to be on the sidelines and watch.

With a grand gesture, Alice opened the box, revealing a dozen different cupcakes. "Ta-daaaa!"

"Cupcakes?"

"Yep," Alice proclaimed proudly. She stood up to properly point out all the different flavors and toppings. I honestly had no clue about Edward's taste in desserts and pastries, but from the way his eyes went wide, I'd say it was a hit.

"Now," Alice continued. "I can give you one of these—your choice, of course—if you accept my apology."

"You haven't actually apologized, and yet, you're blackmailing me into forgiving you? Interesting tactic."

"Right." Alice cleared her throat and continued in her faux British accent. "I have come to express my deep felt um … sincere … apologies. Ah, fuck it, I can't do the whole BBC accent and the big words speech thing. I'm sorry, okay? I was rude and a little overprotective instead of welcoming, and um …" She looked around the restaurant, seeing that more staff had come in, and each and every one of them was drawn to the heavenly scent of her cupcakes and the spectacle she was making of herself. "And I'm sorry about the inappropriate things that shall not be named," she quickly muttered.

Edward nodded slowly, too slowly for Alice, who had never been a particularly patient person. "Well? Come on, chef. Don't leave me hanging like this. I haven't slept all night because I was baking cupcakes for you. You have to forgive me! Um. I mean, please forgive me?" She batted her eyes and amped up her charm level to a zillion. "Wait! Choose a cupcake first. Then we'll talk."

Edward obliged, picking a red one that was probably filled with something fruity. Alice generously passed the box to Rose—who refused on accounts of "maintaining her figure"—and then to me, who did not refuse but quickly scoped out and claimed the most chocolatey one of all.

"Ohh," Edward moaned obscenely. "These _are_ good enough to count as a proper apology. Damn, that's tasty. You should start your own cupcake company."

Alice beamed. "Thank you, Edward! That's definitely high praise coming from a chef. I might start up a company one day, but it'll be hard to really get it going, so I want to get as many fans as possible before that day comes. And maybe work up some partnerships, like serving my stuff in popular places." Alice rambled on as Edward and I stuffed our faces with calorie-filled goodness.

"Well, Alice," Edward said. "If I ever get around to opening my own restaurant, I'd be honored to serve your baked goodies there."

Wait, what? His own restaurant? Was that even a plan?

Shouldn't I know these things about my boyfriend?

Huh.

A few hours later, Rose was calm enough to go home without killing all men in existence, Alice had texted me six times to say how happy she was that her apology had been accepted, and I was dead on my feet and ready to go home. Edward was still finishing up in the kitchen, so I joined Jess at the bar for some underage drinking.

Jess had started drinking ten minutes ago and was already on her fourth tequila. That wasn't exactly within company rules, but I supposed screwing the manager helped. Drunk Jess was talkative Jess and talkative Jess was hilarious, so I sat down with a short greeting to her.

She was admiring her crappy engagement ring so obnoxiously it was clear she was waiting for me to say something about it. I rolled my eyes and obliged. "It's beautiful, Jess. I hope you and Mike will be very happy together." Possible gagging and puking miraculously held in, I took a sip of my beer and watched Jessica get overexcited.

"I know, right? I wanted something bigger, but it's okay. Mike says we're gonna have a really big wedding with lotsa diamonds and lotsa flowers, and it's gonna be all gold and white and soooo classy."

I nodded. I was pretty sure she didn't really want me to interrupt anyway.

"Of course, it'll take some planning, and Mike says we don't really have that kind of money. But he says he'll work something out with the books here? Which will help create money somehow. I'm not sure; I don't know what books he's talking about. I just know I'm not supposed to … oh. Say anything. Oh well. You probably don't understand either, right?" She cackled loudly, snorted, and poured herself another tequila.

I thought about what she implied for a few seconds, but then my gorgeous boyfriend walked out of the kitchen in a V-neck T-shirt and a pair of really great-fitting jeans, and I lost that train of thought.

*.*.*.*

"So …" I started as we entered his apartment. Lame. I sucked at words.

"So?" Edward said.

I sighed and took off my shoes and coat, trying to find words.

"So you said something to Alice …"

"I said a whole bunch of things to Alice. Wanna be more specific?" He chuckled. Ass.

"Ugh, you're an ass."

"Yeah, but you love me." He threw in a wink and a smirk, and I hated how powerless I was against those, but I melted anyway.

"You mentioned starting your own restaurant. I was just wondering if that was seriously a plan, and, um, I guess, why I didn't know about it. I feel like I should know this stuff, you know, your future plans, your favorite food, your goals and dreams, your favorite animal. I know it's not cats, but you know what I mean? What are we doing? I'm moving in and I don't even know … any of this."

Edward put his hands on my shoulders. "Breathe, Cookie. Breathe."

That was probably a good idea. I took a few deep breaths to calm myself. I swear I was only going to ask about him wanting to own his own restaurant. Not sure where the rest of that speech came from.

"Okay," he continued. "That was … a lot of words at once. Please interrupt if I fail to answer one of your many questions." He chuckled again.

"Ass."

He just smirked, unfazed by my verbal abuse. "My favorite food changes daily, but let's say a good medium-rare rib-eye. My favorite animal is most definitely not a cat. I'll stick with dogs, thank you very much. You're not moving in; you've already moved in. Please stop thinking about this place as my apartment and start thinking of it as ours?"

Right. "I'll give my landlord my notice tomorrow," I said in a weak voice.

"As for my future, I see you. More important than anything else, you are my future."

I sighed audibly. Damn swoon-worthy man.

"As for professionally, I don't know what will happen. I've always wanted my own restaurant, but it's the stuff of dreams, you know? I know how to run a kitchen and a serving crew, but I know nothing about starting a business, finances, loans, and networking and such. All the paperwork and the to-do lists would drive me insane. It's not where my strength lies. But I also don't see myself staying at The Rose until retirement. So, I'm not sure. I'm not keeping anything from you, Bella. And we have all the time in the world to figure each other out, to figure our futures out, okay?"

I attacked him with my lips and hands at that. Damn him and his pretty speeches for being so irresistible.

Later, much later, I fell asleep in his arms, fully satisfied, and dreamt of building businesses and rocking the hell out of paperwork and to-do lists and finances and networking.

* * *

 **A/N reviews are my happy pills :-)  
**


	18. Chapter 18: Throbbing members

**Chapter 18** **\- Throbbing members and all that jazz**

* * *

Waking up naked and completely entangled with Edward was quickly becoming my favorite thing of any day. He was lying on his back, and I lay half on top of him, his arm around me as his fingers lazily traced imaginary shapes across my back. It would have made me purr if I hadn't been afraid of reminding him of the cat debacle.

My arm wrapped around his torso, and my leg gallantly censored his crotch from the outside air. I couldn't reach much without moving—and there was definitely not going to be any real activity coming from me this particular minute—so I peppered his neck and jaw with kisses and nibbles. He'd get the idea, surely. It wasn't exactly subtle. No excessive seduction skills were necessary. I mean, I was already naked and draped over his equally naked body.

Sure enough, his hand tightened at my back, and his other hand moved to my thighs, stroking around the swell of my ass. He tilted his head and brought his mouth to my ear.

"Mmm, Cookie … if you want some action, you should probably lift your leg. What with the squishing your knee's doing, nothing about my member's going to get swollen."

I paused my ministrations to crack up, dutifully repositioning my leg. "Y-our member's ... not swelling? You seriously just said that?" I laugh-snorted loudly and without any form of grace or sexiness. "Right. Well, my um … hot um … my hot love cave eagerly awaits your swollen member, so I shall remove my leg in order to let your um …"

"... to let my throbbing rod get engorged?" he finished, and we both laughed.

"Ooh, good one. Yes, we do need your engorged rod as my sopping core is crying for it," I said, trying to make my voice sound all sultry like they do in romance novels and failing miserably.

He chuckled and grabbed my thighs to position me on top of him. "My pulsating manhood is ready for your intimate folds," he groaned, probably also trying to sound like Fabio on the cover of a two-dollar housewife porn book.

I moved back and forth a little, dry humping his cock, which to my great surprise actually did get hard despite our conversation. Then again, I was also pretty much ready to go, so maybe that was just us.

"Well," I attempted to croon with a straight face, thinking for a second. "My purring kitty is ready for your love gun."

Clearly done with the dry humping, he lifted me up and quickly brought me down onto his cock, making both of us groan loudly. "Do you feel …" he tried, but talking was a lot harder during the actual fucking. "Do you feel how my aching sword is sheathed to the hilt inside your …"

Ooh, aching sword. Nice one. "Moist love canal?"

We both cringed at that one then cracked up, making Edward flinch as the laughter made me move in ways that were rather uncomfortable for him. I tried to calm down and focus more on the lovemaking than on our words, but apparently, it was hard to resist for both of us.

"Fuck, babe," he groaned as I found just the right angle to ride him. "I love your … honey pot."

"Ha!" I laughed in between moans. "That might be the worst one yet. Come on, Edward. Make me feel your spear of flesh in my aching pussy."

It was completely ridiculous how our impromptu contest of horrible euphemisms seemed to egg us both on, but somehow, it did. Not deterred by constant bouts of laughter, we brought each other to the brink of orgasm while spouting off words no one should ever say out loud.

"Yes, fuck, fuck," I panted, increasing my pace. Edward dug his nails firmly into my ass cheeks, just the right amount of pain to be pleasurable, and brought his hips up with more and more force, filling me completely as I cried out. "Fuck, Edward … yes! Give … me … your … man milk."

A short, strangled laugh escaped his mouth. "Damn, babe, don't make me laugh right now; I'm trying to fill you with my prick liquid."

I managed to hold in the hysterical laughter bubbling up inside and screamed wordlessly as I came, hard, clamping down on his dick as he, too, reached his orgasm with a loud groan. I collapsed on top of him, my forehead on his chest as we recovered from our post-orgasmic bliss.

A few minutes passed before I came back to earth, recalling what felt like the weirdest session of sex in history, and I started giggling, which had an unfortunate side effect. "Oh, damn, now I gotta get up," I said and gave Edward a quick kiss on the lips. "I'm leaking your penis colada."

He snorted and joined me in laughter, rolling us around and sadly breaking our connection as he got up.

I may have whined a little.

"Relax, Cookie," he chuckled. "I'm gonna get you a towel to clean up the mess of my man mayo."

Ah, the intimacy and romance of sex in relationships. Good times.

Another round of giggles escaped me at his words, and I forced my arms upward to make a time-out sign. "Oh, God, please can we end the euphemisms? I can't take any more of this insanity."

"Really?" He pouted as he gently cleaned up his own mess with the towel. "But I had so many other good ones for jizz. You won't even let me say co—"

"Nuh uh!" I interrupted him with a hand on his mouth, but he easily pushed it aside. "Cock droplets!" he yelled quickly, like a five-year-old kid desperate to have the last word before a time-out. I rolled my eyes but couldn't help but laugh at his boyish, proud expression and beckoned him closer; two feet of space between our bodies was far too much, and more touching was definitely in order.

*.*.*.*

An hour later and we still hadn't moved from the bed. We were sticky and sweaty, and both of us had morning breath and grumbling stomachs, but the closeness of our bodies felt addictive and moving was just really, really hard.

"So," I started, knowing I couldn't keep quiet about this. "Drunk Jessica basically told me last night Mike's committing fraud and stealing from The Rose."

I didn't know what kind of reaction I'd expected, but it wasn't the completely calm "hmmhmm" Edward replied with.

"Hmmhmm? That's it?"

He sighed. "I've suspected that was the case for a while. The worst part is that I have no power over the asshole. I already told Aro all about Mike's incompetence and possible criminal activities. He says he's on it, whatever that means. It's been months since I talked to Aro, so apparently, he's too busy to care about his restaurant going to hell."

I couldn't imagine anyone being so careless with their business, and I'm sure the question was clear on my face. Edward sighed. "Aro is … very singular. And let's not forget filthy rich. I'm sure he's just too busy drinking champagne on his yacht in St. Tropez to give a damn about a restaurant that provides about one percent of his income. If it even provides income at this point; with Mike's managing skills and consistent over-scheduling of personnel, I wouldn't be surprised if The Rose has been losing money for the past few years."

I suddenly found myself imagining wild orgies and silicone-filled boobs, Cuban cigars and an excess of golden jewelry, and I shuddered as I tried to think of something positive to say. "Well, at least, he's normal enough to do his own grocery shopping."

"Hmm." He shrugged. "That, or he was meeting someone for some shady business deals. I've worked for Aro for almost a decade, and all I can tell you is that he's definitely not as clean as he pretends to be."

Oh. And here I thought he was just grocery shopping. I felt so naïve, hearing about this shady business world I never even thought about. I tried to shrug off the bad vibes and turn it into something positive instead. "So … if Aro is shady, and Mike's most definitely cooking the books, The Rose probably isn't making any profit. It's kind of a sinking ship that you should leave before it goes under, no?"

He nodded reluctantly. "I feel a weird sort of loyalty to the place despite all of this shit. And despite all this macho confident exterior here, I'm basically just a scared little boy who doesn't know where to go."

I wanted to laugh at that, but he seemed kind of serious. "Okay, so you like stability above all else. That makes sense because I like adventure and the unknown, and you're pretty consistently my opposite. But, hey, hear me out here. What if … you started your own restaurant? And I could help?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Please don't tell me you want to become a career waitress."

Well, no, but hey, what the hell? "Why? What's wrong with that?"

"There's nothing wrong with being a waitress. It's just that … you … well …"

Oh, right. "I suck at it."

He shrugged apologetically. "Well, yeah."

"You're really not being a very supportive boyfriend right now, by the way," I teased. He had the decency to look guilty, which made me laugh; we both knew I was a lousy waitress. "But, no. I was thinking about switching majors … to business studies. So I could help out with all the parts of starting a place of your own that you don't want to deal with. Finding funds and loans and permits and personnel and all the paperwork."

Edward looked stunned and, if I had been the kind of person who read emotions in someone's eyes, I'd say he looked reverent and in awe. Or something. "You'd want that?"

I shrugged. "It sounds like a giant to-do list, and if there's anything I love, it's long to-do lists."

He raised a brow at me in a clear attempt at imitating my famous bitch brow, and I wanted to exclaim, "Oh! I have taught you well!" but the conversation was too serious to allow for dramatics, so I stuck to a small giggle.

"I'm kidding, Edward. I'm not going to choose a career based on my love for crossing out tasks on to-do lists. Although," I pondered for a second, "that would probably still be a better reasoning than the previous 'I like books and shall therefore study literature.'"

He looked at me blankly.

"Really? Not even a chuckle? I mean, I know I'm not a career comedian, but _I_ thought that was pretty funny."

Edward rolled his eyes. The bastard.

"All right, all right. I'm choosing it I because I love the idea of starting a business, building it up from scratch, and turning it into something successful—and then letting it go to start something new. So I'm not choosing this for you. In fact, I'm fully counting on leaving you to your own devices as soon as this hypothetical future restaurant of yours opens. I just want to help with everything that comes before it."

He finally smiles. "That is really kind of amazing. Let's take it slowly, though. You haven't taken a single business class yet, and I am nowhere near ready—mentally and financially—to open my own place."

That seemed sensible enough, so like the sensible adults we were, we made a pinky promise to convey our intentions to revisit the subject at a later date.

*.*.*.*

I had timed my switch of major well; with the new semester starting, I only had to charm my way into a few classes where the registration deadline had already passed. Nothing too slutty though. I had class. Duh. Since the business school was a completely different sub-school of UDub it was a miracle I'd pulled it off, but I wasn't going to complain about that.

What I did complain about, like the whiny five-year-old that I was, were the classes because they were seriously kicking my ass. Analyzing Shakespeare had been annoying, but that was nothing compared to Financial Accounting and Intro to Entrepreneurship. School suddenly took some serious concentration, but using my brain felt good, and I found I enjoyed the material a lot more than I ever liked my Lit classes.

Between classes, two jobs, and finally getting around to taking the last few boxes of my shit over to Edward's—I mean, _our_ —apartment, the weeks flew by. We hadn't gotten around to painting the walls yet, but already, it felt more like home than my old tiny crappy place ever did.

Work was fine, generally speaking. I managed to find some form of balance and managed to spill and drop far fewer beverages than ever before. Hadn't gotten around to training my memory yet, so remembering people's orders was still a huge challenge, but hey, we can't all be geniuses at everything, no?

Meanwhile, Alice started a new tradition. She came by The Rose at least twice a week—often accompanied by her new teenage bestie Rose—to ceremoniously hand Edward yet another cupcake with yet another apology. Edward didn't have the heart to tell her he wasn't a big fan of sweetness, and pastries in general, and so dutifully crunched on her offerings every single time she bowed before him, hand stretched out in a humble peace offering.

The whole thing was highly unnecessary—Edward had long forgiven Alice for her craziness, and the two got along quite well these days—but it offered an amusing sight, this tiny bright-haired girl bowing as if she's a lowly peasant at a Renaissance court, trying to appease the king.

Rose, during all this, usually watched the proceedings from her vantage point at the bar where she could simultaneously enjoy the antics of her new friend driving her dad crazy _and_ be seen from the kitchen, where intern Emmett stared at her lovingly. They never spoke; I think she mostly enjoyed the attention and silent devotion he showed her. I wondered if she'd still show up at The Rose when Emmett's internship was over.

Edward was wonderfully oblivious to the silent, budding romance between his daughter and his apprentice and remarked on more than one occasion how happy he was to see his kid more often. I was wise enough not to comment, which worked out pretty well for me.

At home, we'd started a mood board of sorts for the future restaurant and a savings jar that was mostly symbolic because we sadly sucked at saving money, and the only way we managed to build up our capital was by automatically transferring it to a separate account. Of course, when I say "we" I mean Edward—I was still the poor student squatting at the professional adult's place, like his dad had insinuated the first and only time we'd met.

We hadn't been able to get anywhere on the Mike issue yet. Aro worked in mysterious and very slow ways, but, I'd reasoned, optimistically, that was good because there was a high probability The Rose was going to end up destroyed in a non-literal but still very real way. Then we'd both be out of a job before we were ready to start a new place. So we accepted, and waited, and tried not to strangle the manager.

All in all, life was pretty good, so I figured now was as good a time as any for Edward to meet my father. They both liked food … and beer … and … well, me. Whatever. They were bound to have many other things in common and instantly strike up a friendship, right? It could happen. Totally.

* * *

 **A/N Serious shit happens even in silly fics, but at least there was a sort-of lemon in there. Heh.**

 **I'm on Facebook with this exact name. Also I've been peer pressured into making a group, so let's experiment with that, come join me at Lotus Wri(gh)tings. :)**

 **Thanks to my beta Alice's White Rabbit for all your polishing & correcting, and to Snowflakelover & MissBreakingSanity for the neverending inspirational chats.**

 **Let me know your thoughts? They mean a lot to me.**


	19. Chapter 19 - Charlie

**Chapter 19 - Charlie**

Neutral territory was agreed upon for the meet-the-Dad portion of the day. Somehow, I managed to find enough empathy in me to try to make this as painless as possible despite the less than stellar ways I'd met _his_ family.

Dad was in town anyway, so there was no need to drive to the metropolis that was Forks, and we decided to have lunch in a café.

Not a cat café though.

I wanted to let Edward choose the venue this time so there'd be zero chance of further café-related trauma. But the sad reality was that a chef who works eighty hours a week in one restaurant generally has very little time or inclination to visit the competition elsewhere in town, so we Googled that shit and randomly selected a small coffeehouse near his—um, our home.

The café itself seemed normal enough although it is filled to the brim with people, which I thought was kind of insane for a Monday afternoon at a time nowhere near either lunch or dinner times. Or maybe it was just that The Rose was deteriorating so much that I was no longer used to popular, hip establishments.

We managed to find a table all the way in the back of the narrow café, and I quickly sent a text to my dad to inform him of our whereabouts, which was immediately followed up by one of his that said "ojjkaty. Okay. sdtupif phone."

All right then. Regardless of texting abilities, Dad found his way to us before we'd even taken off our coats, so I took a deep breath and a second to mentally prepare myself for the introductions.

"Dad, this is Edward. Edward, this is my dad, Charlie." There, that wasn't so bad.

"Chief Swan," my dad mumbled, and I rolled my eyes. Was that how we was gonna play it?

I saw Edward's eyebrows lift and wondered whether I had actually prepared him enough, or at all, for this meeting. Had I even told him that my dad's the chief of police? No? Whoops. Charlie was chill, though. Usually. He was the kind of dad who accepted my own choices and happiness. He did a really amazing job raising a kid by himself in a podunk little town on a cop's salary while the certifiable woman who was my mother drifted around the country, ever spending, never saving money. There was no child support, no weekend trips, no shared custody. Charlie did it all himself, and I had no idea how any human could pull that off. So yeah, me and Charlie? We were cool.

Except for now because I had no idea what he was trying to pull.

Edward recovered quickly with a generic, "Nice to meet you, Chief Swan" and a firm handshake. Of course, Edward wasn't going to be intimidated. He wasn't exactly a pimple-faced teenager any more; in fact, he was … oh shit, he was only six years younger than my father. My boyfriend was a lot closer in age to my dad than he was to me. Gah. Okay, not focusing on that. Too much weirdness.

We all sat down—Edward and I on one side, my unusually stern-looking father on the other.

Cue awkward silence.

I scrambled my brain for something to say, cursing myself for not preparing, like, cue cards or something.

"Um, so, coffee, anyone?"

Brilliant find, Bella, really.

As both men said they'd like a black coffee—because of course they'd both drink the same damn drink—I figured I should probably make sure we'd get those because the place was so packed I didn't think a waitress would even be able to get back here.

And besides, leaving Edward alone with my dad for a few minutes was poetic revenge for him dumping me with Maggie. So I got up and pushed through the mass of people to the front of the café, leaving the men in yet more silence.

Getting two coffees and a tea couldn't have taken more than five minutes because, despite the crowded ambiance, it seemed most people were here to talk in large groups or to work on their laptops and not so much for drinking actual beverages. But as I attempted to wrestle my way back to our table in the back, I could already see there was definitely no uncomfortable silence between the men any more. A mass of people was blocking my way, so I just got glimpses of their profiles—Edward looking slightly annoyed, my father talkative and not looking too happy.

Uh oh.

Making your way through groups of people who are ignoring all their surroundings is a lot easier when you can use your elbows and you're not carrying three mighty hot drinks. Ever so slowly, I managed to pass a few people, but it was like rolling a marble through a sea of gravy. So while I did manage to get within earshot, I was powerless to stop their words.

"Don't you think you're a bit too old for her?" Dad asked like the alternate universe version of Charlie he had suddenly become.

"I am older, yes, but we tend to joke that, while it looks pretty bad on paper, we work well in real life. It hasn't posed a problem so far, and I'm confident it won't."

Charlie nodded and—I kid you not—used two fingers to stroke an imaginary goatee. I rolled my eyes so hard I lost track of my balance and almost stumbled to the floor.

"You got a criminal record, boy?" the Dad impersonator asked the man only six years his junior, who answered in the negative.

"Drugs? Speeding tickets? Shoplifting candy in early adolescence?"

Edward continuously shook his head as the idiotic questions were fired off in record speed.

"Hm. I will find out if you're lying, you know."

"I'm really not."

"So what are your intentions with my daughter?" the possessed human, formally known as Charlie, asked suddenly.

"I love her," Edward said simply. Oh, bless him. "And I plan to keep loving her for a very long time."

"Hmmm," the Charlie-bot replied and rubbed his bushy mustache. "We're gonna have to make up some ground rules here. Rule one: you make her cry, I make you cry. Rule two: no touching my daughter in front of me. You put your hands on my daughter's body and I will remove them forcibly. Rule three: be afraid. I have a gun, and I know how to use it. Rule four—"

That was pretty much the last straw. I quickly called upon the powers that be and shoved my way through the final few feet of people, breathing deeply when I finally reached the table.

"Oh, hell no," I interrupted and placed the drinks on the table so I could do a proper finger snap and bitchitude to go along with it. "You have got to be kidding me, Dad."

The Charlie alien had the decency to look a little embarrassed, but that was not nearly enough. "No, please, _Father_ ," I sneered. "Enlighten me how you think you justify threatening to literally murder my boyfriend."

He fiddled with his coffee cup and refused to meet my eyes. "I'm just looking out for my baby girl, you know," he mumbled, a total 180 from the threatening bastard of a minute before.

I put my hand on my forehead in an unsuccessful attempt to calm myself and glanced at Edward. He seemed to be fighting a smile, as if he knew we were all on the verge of another one of my rants.

He'd be right.

"Dad, I am almost twenty-one years old. I've been living by myself for three years. I do my own laundry and cook my own meals, but more importantly, I make my own damn choices, whether they're awesome or absolutely stupid. _I_ am responsible for me. The only rule you _should_ have about someone dating your daughter is that you have no rules because I make the damn rules about who dates your daughter."

"Well, yeah, but …" he trailed off.

"Dad. You raised me. Do you think you raised me to be a responsible person, a strong woman, a feminist who knows what's wrong and right?"

"Of course!"

"Did you raise me to think critically and not be a naïve, trusting little girl?"

"I'd hope so."

"So why would you suddenly assume I'm too stupid to choose a guy?"

Charlie muttered something to himself. "But he's too old for you," he grumbled.

Edward opened his mouth to respond. Ha! As if I would let anyone interrupt my rant. "Well, it's not exactly his fault he was born a bunch of years before me."

Charlie finally looked at me. "But why not go for someone more your own age like that last boy you dated?"

I rolled my eyes. "Like Jake? Jake is a lazy, broke, permanently stoned drug dealer, and I made the choice, like the responsible and independent adult that I am, to get rid of his ass."

"Oh," replied my father. I figured he'd like that little tidbit.

"Oh, indeed."

Charlie sighed. "All right, all right. I apologize, Bella, Edward. I got a little carried away there. I s'pose it's not entirely your fault you're much too o— I mean, much older than her. I'd like you better if you were 24 instead of 36, but I guess you can't exactly help that."

Edward and I exchanged a look, and he shrugged. "Meh, I'll take it," he joked. I forced my body to relax from its ultra-feminist rant pose and finally sat down.

"Ahem," Charlie said, obviously trying to start over. "So, Bella, how's school?" Because my dad's nothing if not a Parent with a capital P, so he always asks about school, friends, and money.

"School's harder, but good," I replied. "I switched majors to business studies."

That was as good a conversation starter as any. Charlie had never understood me wanting to study literature because he read about as many books as Edward did. He praised me for the "sensible" choice, to which I rolled my eyes, then asked some questions of genuine interest about the restaurant business, classes, and even about Edward's career. Before I knew it, it was 6 PM, Charlie and Edward officially got along great, and I was in some ABC Family sitcom waiting for the laugh track to kick in at the lame ass jokes the two men were throwing at each other. Damn. Next thing I knew, they'd be going on fishing trips and man-bonding outings together.

"Well, son," my dad said as he did this manly thing I didn't understand where he grasped Edward's shoulder, "it's been fun chatting with you. Like I said before, except now I mean it, you can't very well help being older than Bells here, and no matter what your age, you seem like a good guy. Be sure to come along when Bella visits Forks; I'll grab my fishing gear out of the garage."

Holy friggin' alternate universe.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Short - but quick! - chapter :)**

 **I personally hate when fathers are overly possessive of their adult daughters and men ask permission to date them and all that shit, so this was me getting my frustration out. How about you? Would you be okay with it if your dad had a "Rules to dating my daughter"?**

 **I messed up with a bunch of review replies but I will try to reply to all reviews for this chapter, promise.**

 **Finally: come join the fun at my FB page Lotus Wri(gh)tings...  
as well as the amazing group Pay it Forward, run by SunFlowerFran (800 awesome people, lots of recs and fun stuff.)  
**


	20. Chapter 20: Fish

**Happy Treason Day, colonials! ;)**

 **Here's chapter 20 for you.**

 **I had a guest writer for (most of) this chapter, because I am deathly afraid of fish and would never come close to any experience like the one described below, but SunflowerFran wanted fishing so SunflowerFran gets fishing.** **Thank you, the amazing MissBreakingSanity, for writing most of this chapter. You're awesome and your mind is very twisted. Perfect.**

* * *

 **EPOV**

Bonding time with family. It sounded like a great idea in theory. I loved that Bella and Ben were out together to do ... something. I tried to pay attention; really, I did, but they were talking of fandoms and Avengers and Slytherins, and I tuned out. Ben did tell me about the plans he had to surprise Bella, which sounded risky to me but also very sweet, and he'd sworn she would love it. And, hey, they have a lot in common, and they seemed to like each other, so I was sure they'd have a good day, so I enthusiastically encouraged Ben and his plans. I just didn't remember the plan itself, but that was because he'd called me at 7 PM on a Saturday, and I'd been elbow deep in chicken stuffing and rush-hour meals.

But, yeah. I knew they'd have a great time.

I was less sure about how great my own day would turn out to be.

Charlie was in town, and since he suddenly stopped threatening to kill me, he absolutely loved me. Bella rolled her eyes every time she talked to him on the phone because he'd ask about me and us and whether everything was okay. She'd say, "I just chopped him into little pieces, but I do need some extra tips on how to get rid of the body," but Charlie didn't really know what to do with crude humor, so he'd just grunt.

Getting off track here. So Charlie kept telling Bella that he'd love to take me out fishing since Bella flat out refused to go anywhere near fishing rods and live bait. So that's what we were going to do today. Fish.

It was set up by Charlie and Bella in one of their phone conversations. I hadn't actually had a hand in it. No one had asked me whether I liked fishing or whether I'd ever done it before. I was just told a time and place to show up. Those Swan people are very bossy when they want to be.

So here I was, sitting next to Charlie in uncomfortable silence on our way to go fishing, and I had no idea what the hell I was doing.

Of course, for both my sake and Bella's, I wanted to bond with Charlie. Really. His acceptance of his daughter's and my relationship was important to Bella, and that means it was just as important to me. Wasn't exactly planning on kissing his ass, but I was fairly sure I could survive a fishing trip … right?

I had never fished before though. Too busy, really, to go out and enjoy outdoorsy things and, also, just not very interested. But, hey, I was a chef, dammit. I cooked fish every day. So, really, how hard could this be?

The uncomfortable silence in the car didn't last long at all. Apparently, a friend of Charlie's had a boat docked at Lake Washington, and we were to borrow it for the day. We parked near Saint Edward State Park, which made Charlie snicker. Really. Hilarious. Uh huh.

We quietly carried everything for what felt like miles until we made it to the dock, and we began to ready the crazy amount of shit we brought with us.

"Ok, so we'll start with setting up your pole first, Edward. Do you know how to tie a fisherman's knot?"

"A what now?" There was a special way to do this?

"It's really simple," he said, and I immediately doubted him. "Take the line, feed it through the hook. Take that part up to where the lines are side by side. Hold those together and spin the hook seven times. After you spin it, take the end of the line and put it through the loop where it starts to twist. Pull it tight, and that's it. Easy."

Blank stare. That did not sound anything like my definition of simple. I made Charlie repeat his explanation, but it still took several tries to tie a damn knot around the hook.

"Okay, I think I've got it. That's it right; I'm done?"

 _I_ got a blank stare this time. "Of course not," he grumbled. "You still have to throw on your weights and a bobber. Unless you plan on bottom fishing. You'll need heavier weights and a much bigger hook for that. We'll just stick to the bobber method, it's much simpler."

"Okay …" I'm sure I did a good impression of a helpless kitten. Charlie took one look at my face and dropped his pole to help me with mine. Who the hell knew it would be this hard to set up a tiny fishing pole? I thought it was all fishing line and hooks, not these crazy weights and boobie boober things.

With some help from Charlie, we pinched on the split weights with fishing pliers, and he threw the bobber on for me.

I hoped this meant the hard part was over, but I was too chicken to voice anything like that.

"That styrofoam box right there?" He pointed at a box in the middle of the enormous mess of stuff. "That's where the worms are. Go on and get one out and pinch it in half from the middle."

Well, that sounded disgusting enough. I shrugged, grabbed my pole, and approached the little box, careful not to make the precarious mountain of supplies topple over. Moving around some dirt in the box, I found a nice fat, wiggly worm and grabbed it. Okay. Pinch it in half, he said. I dug my fingernail into the squiggly creature, every second getting me closer to losing my breakfast, and then the damn thing exploded. Blood and what can only be its stomach contents covered my hand completely. I'm not ashamed to say I screeched a little. Okay, a lot.

 _Man up,_ I told myself quietly, but there were worm guts all over my fingers, and I really shouldn't have eaten pancakes this morning because any second now they were going to come right back up. Deep breaths. Deep, calming breaths.

I wiped my hand on the grass, not doing a very sneaky job of it as I heard a chuckling Charlie behind me. He ignored my predicament and continued the lecture.

"Now there are many ways to hook a worm. You can pierce it through the top, wrap the body around it, and puncture the last part. I, on the other hand, do it differently. I take the split end of the worm and shove it straight through, basically making a hook shaped worm. No metal is shown and a little bit of the worm is still left to wiggle for the fish. It uh … can get a bit messy though," he said giddily. He actually giggled at the end. Weird form of sadism, this shit.

I swallowed and tried it his way, straight up the disgusting middle. I cringed as more blood and brown dripped down my fingers. Once satisfied, I followed Charlie to his little fishing spot, ready to throw in this damn pole and redeem myself somehow.

At least, I totally know how to cast a pole. So I threw back the uh … flippy thing, and I tossed it back before whipping it forward.

 _Success!_

Well until I couldn't understand why my pole wouldn't reel in. Forgot to flip back the flippy thing. I hit it as quickly as I could and tried to act nonchalant about it while reeling in my slack.

"He—" Charlie started, and I looked over just in time to watch as his minnow flew off his hook, flopping through the air, only to land directly in my stupid, open mouth.

I spit it out as fast as I could, wiped my lips, and immediately, regret set in as I realize I used the same hand to wipe my mouth as I used to hook the worm. The one still mostly covered in worm guts.

I couldn't help the gag and dry heave as I looked down at my fingers—yep, still covered in guts and dried blood. Well, not so much dried _now_ as my saliva made the worm blood drip from my fingertips.

Charlie showed his empathetic side while I gagged at the realization of what I'd just done. He started laughing so hard he had to hold his stomach to keep from keeling over.

"Your face, oh God, your face," he chortled in between bouts of hysterical laughter. "When that minnow hit you and went into your mouth, oh God, that was glorious. Remind me to take a picture next time."

"Whatever." All I tasted was fish. Which, all in all, was better than tasting worm guts.

I got a hard slap to my shoulder from Charlie. "Don't feel bad, son, worse has happened to me." As much as I didn't want to hear any of it, Charlie valiantly started telling stories about his old fishing days. For a man who came across as pretty stern and quiet, he turned out to be a surprisingly filter-less speaker, and for a straight hour, he spouted off story after story. Drunk naked fishing, falling into the lake and getting tangled up in the strings of the rod, fishing hooks in body parts, and diarrhea when in the middle of nowhere—there's really nothing he didn't share. The details of these stories—hell, the bottom line of these stories—are far more than I ever wanted to know about him, but it also took my mind off my own disastrous afternoon and the disgusting taste of minnow stuck in my mouth.

The stories slowed down eventually, and the next few hours were quiet repetition. Casting. Reeling. Casting. Reeling. Thankfully no more flying minnows happened. It took forever before my pole took a hit, and when it did, it nearly ripped it from my hands. I instantly went from cool and somewhat relaxed to freaking out in seconds and lost the fish before I could reel it in, but the worst part is definitely that it took all my bait. I had to put on new bait, and I dreaded it immensely, but with eyes closed and mind tuned out, I managed to rip another worm to shreds with the metal hook. Gross.

Charlie, in the meantime, caught fish after fish while I sat around with my new bait, waiting. I was just starting to feel frustrated when my pole got a hard tug, and oh yeah, it's on. I yanked and started reeling in what I hoped would be a decent fish. It felt heavy and took a good couple of minutes to pull, but I eventually managed, and I brought my catch up onto the grass.

It's definitely decent-sized, so I feel all manly and proud. I also attempted to hit Charlie in the face with the fish, but he's faster than he looks, so he just laughed, grabbed the line holding my catch, and tried to throw it back at me. I dropped the damn thing down to avoid an escalated fish slapping war; that just seemed cruel.

"That's a good size Brook Trout," Charlie exclaimed. "Unhook it and slide the stringer through the gills and out of the mouth. That one is a keeper."

Trying to grab this fish was ridiculous. The fucking thing was slippery and kept slipping out of my hands. Getting the hook out of its mouth was just as difficult. I tried to get a death grip on the fish while using the other hand to get the hook out with pliers. It took a lot of wiggling and cursing, then I got the hook ... and half of the fish's mouth as well.

 _Oops._

For the second time today, I got myself into a bloody mess, and even though I prepared many dishes with meat and dead fish every day, I felt kind of bad for torturing the trout.

After some time, I got the hang of it. I caught one more slimy fish and managed not to partially decapitate that one. Charlie kept catching them left and right. By the end of the day, I was exhausted and ready to shower for a year straight.

 _I wonder if Bella will kick my ass when I give her a nasty fish and wormy, sweaty hug?_

All in all, it was an interesting day, if one I would never, ever want to repeat. When I finally got home, I dropped my tired, smelly body on the couch to just rest for a second—then it was an hour later and the sound of Bella's keys in the door woke me up. A smile found its way to my face instantly; I was looking forward to seeing her, touching her, and hearing about her time with my son, but it melted off just as quickly as I was greeted by a thunderous-looking Bella.

"So … did you have a good time?" I asked because I'm an idiot. The glare of death she greeted me with in return scared me enough to take a step back. Uh oh.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **! IMPORTANT !**

 **My other fic, Flushed, is nominated for the Top 10 fics of the month at twifanfictionrecs dot com and that is hella amazing. If you liked Flushed, I'd love it if you voted for it! You can vote once per day so you can always vote for another favorite another day (or vote tons of times for mine, if you're that awesome)**

 **Credit for most of this chapter: MissBreakingSanity. You're insane and I love it.**

 **Thanks go out to my beta, Alice's White Rabbit, who fixed this chapter with amazing lightning speed.**

 **Any guesses as to what Bella & Ben did on their day out? Shout out to whoever guesses it correctly.**

 **Finally: come find me on facebook, I made a group! It's Lotus Wri(gh)tings because I'm clever like that. Uhhuh.**


	21. Chapter 21: Ben & Bella's Day Out

**Chapter 21: Ben & Bella's Day Out**

 _It's been a while, so to recap: Ben and Bella were going to have a day out together, bonding and shit. Edward does not know what they were going to do, but then a very angry Bella walks in._

 _._

 _*.*.*_

 _._

Edward looked at me warily. I'd just unleashed the Evil Look that trumps all other Evil Looks on him, and he was probably expecting a tirade. Instead, I plopped down on the couch and let out a long groan.

"I am too physically tired to work up the enthusiasm for an impassioned rant."

Edward's face relaxed instantly, and he cleared his throat. "H-how was your day, honey?"

I rolled my eyes at his exaggerated sugary-sweet voice. "So, so tired. And bruised. Ow. Ouch. Ugh." I let gravity take over, my body falling onto the couch sideways like the pathetic sack of potatoes that I was.

Edward, ever the hospitality expert, materialized in front of me with a cup of tea and a gigantic white chocolate chip cookie and patted my shoulder in the most exaggeratingly patronizing way possible. "There, there," he cooed in the voice your annoying aunt uses to talk to babies. "It'll be okay, honey. Shush, now, sweetie pie."

Despite my fatigue, I giggled at his ridiculousness. "Youthinkyou'resofunnyhuh," I mumbled into the couch cushions.

He grinned unapologetically. "Kinda, yeah." He shrugged. "Now, wanna tell me about your day?"

"Will you think less of me if I talk while munching on that giant cookie?"

"Probably, but that won't stop you."

Good point, I thought, and took a bite, trying to find a starting point for today's story.

I'd been half-excited, half-scared about the prospect of spending a day with Ben. He was a nice kid, definitely a cooler teenager than I'd been, and it was important to me and Edward that we get along, obviously. But, well, there were so many things that could go wrong, and I was just … not great at talking to children. Or teenagers, whatever. And I tended to fuck up more often when I was nervous, so there was that.

We decided to do a two-part day—he would choose one thing and I would choose another. I chickened out on anything that could be considered a true bonding activity and took him to the latest Avengers movie because, at least, we both liked superheroes, and I really liked Chris Hemsworth. And Chris Evans.

Fine, _and_ Robert Downey Jr.

Getting off track a bit. Whoops.

"The movie part of the day was fine," I summarized. "Popcorn, loud noises, flashing lights, things getting blown up by attractive people. 'Twas all good." I took another bite of the cookie, making a show of chewing slowly.

"Okay, so what did Ben plan for the rest of the day?" Edward asked with pretend patience.

"Well … first, you should keep in mind that Ben doesn't know me all that well. He just knows there are a few things we both like, you know? The Princess Bride, a bunch of comics you've never heard of because you're ancient …"

Edward cleared his throat.

"Whoops, sorry!" I said without any conviction whatsoever. "Got a little sidetracked there. Anyway, there are the superhero movies, of course … and Harry Potter."

"Hmm-hmm," he hummed, not seeing where this was going.

"He took me to play Quidditch, okay!" I all but yelled.

Edward frowned. "Isn't that the Harry Potter sport thing?"

I rolled my eyes. Of course, Edward wouldn't have read the books, and he wouldn't know much about Quidditch. "Yeah, it's the sport they play in the books. With killer balls and a golden one with wings, and broomsticks, and three hoops and stuff."

"So … you channeled your inner witch to fly a broomstick? You really should've taken pictures of that. In other words, how do you do the flying a broomstick part of the Quidsomethingsomething?"

"Right. That's the part that caused my anger and fatigue. I'll explain."

And so I did. A few years ago, a few enthusiastic Muggles decided to reenact Quidditch as a real sport, and since then, it's grown exponentially. There are teams everywhere, and there was a small, local tournament today which Ben made us join because a buddy of his needed two more players or they wouldn't be able to play, so he and his fellow fourteen-year-old friends used their wonderful teenage pouty faces to guilt me into joining. Damn Ben was a master con artist with his: "Oh, but Bella, it'll be an awesome bonding activity, right?" As well as: "But, Bella, Quidditch is all for gender equality, and we're only allowed to play if we get another girl on our team. Be a proper feminist and join!"

Right.

So the next thing I knew, I was a beater, which I already knew didn't bode well for me because I was supposed to hit other people with a dodgeball—and I have the hand-eye coordination as well as the physical fitness level of a snail—and I was also prone to being hit by other beaters' balls. As someone who still had some lingering traumas from childhood games of dodgeball in gym class, this whole set-up worried me greatly.

I also had to do all this while running around holding a broomstick between my legs. We were the Seattle Sorcerers, and we looked absolutely puny and pathetic compared to some of the other teams. We were going down.

I got a quick introduction to the game's rules, was assigned a broomstick and a purple T-shirt, and Ben's friend Peter painted two quick black stripes on my cheek, meant to make me look intimidating. It didn't work.

By the time we were getting ready for our first match, a light drizzle had started, quickly turning into a proper Seattle rain shower that lasted the rest of the afternoon. When we stepped onto the playing field, the grass had already gotten muddy. My poor Chucks—I had not prepared for sports and running, obviously—made a squishing sound with every step I took.

The referee, dressed in an actual Slytherin cape and scarf, blew his whistle, and the Seattle Sorcerers vs the UDub Dementors was a go. The opposing team's name said it all—they were all college students, whereas I was the oldest one on our team, which was mostly filled with gangly, awkward, pimply teenagers.

I was hit in the shoulder with a bludger-slash-dodgeball within two minutes and dropped the damn broom, so I had to walk back to our goal posts before joining the game again. Them's the rules. "Off broom!" the referee had yelled, as if I didn't know that yet.

Ben, one of our team's chasers, managed to score a goal, but it didn't take long before we were miserably behind. The cold rain seeped through my shirt; the fingers holding my broomstick were freezing. Looking around, I saw all my team members with tragically smudged war stripes on their cheeks, looking more like failed, sad Halloween kids than Quidditch warriors.

Twenty minutes later, the score was 70-10 for the Dementors. I was drenched, tired, angry, and my "broom fingers" were cramped up and white from the cold. Mud from the field splashed all over my legs with every step I took. I'd attempted to not move around for a while, but that had led to more and more bludgers hitting me, so that didn't work. I'd grabbed a few dodgeballs and tried to hit the opposing team members, but I had worse aim than a blind man, and my puny little arms put absolutely no force behind the throws. Pathetic.

Then Garrett, our seeker, spotted the Snitch. Unfortunately, the Snitch in muggle Quidditch wasn't a cute little gold ball with silver wings. It was a fat dude dressed in bright yellow, with a knee-length sock hanging out his ass with the word "SNITCH" handwritten on it with a Sharpie and a tennis ball dangling at the end of it.

I'm not even kidding.

So Garrett took off running after the yellow Snitch dude, splashing through the mud, closely followed by the other team's seeker. The Snitch gleefully jumped through puddles and tried to escape, looking so happy I was certain he was high on something. The sight of the tennis ball swishing up and down with the tail cracked me up for a second, but I was instantly shoved by a damn UDub Dementor—an illegal move because contact like that was only allowed if I'd been holding a ball, but the referee was looking at the Snitch, and so was everyone else. No one saw the glorious nose dive into the mud that I made.

Cheers erupted around me, so I lifted my head and opened my mud-caked eyes. I was on eye-level with Garrett, a few yards away, who was in the exact same position as me. Meanwhile, a UDub Dementor was dancing around with a yellow-socked tennis ball in his hand.

I groaned.

Rain, mud, bruises, and dodgeballs, and we'd lost miserably. I let my head drop into the mud again.

Edward had a look of sympathy plastered on his face that was about as sincere as a porn star's orgasm.

"You're thinking: 'if you spent twenty minutes in the rain and mud and that was all, you're being a whiny bitch.' Am I right?"

It took him just a second too long to reply. "Um, n-no, of course not."

I shot him a look. "Right."

He hesitated. "All right, maybe a little bit exactly what you just said."

"I knew it, you lying scumbag," I replied, but I'd dropped my head onto the couch cushions again so there was little chance of him understanding my words. After some mental preparation, I pulled myself up again to face him. "Five games, mister. Five. Games. We somehow managed to win the second game, so we were required to advance to the next round before we were allowed to give up."

"Ouch."

"Yeah." I scowled and slowly pulled up my sleeves. "Look at all the bruises. And how drenched I am. And the mud. And, oh shit, I just realized I dropped down on the couch while resembling a swamp monster."

"Yeah, but you're my swamp monster." Edward chuckled. I was beginning to suspect a sadistic side of him.

"You are a mean, mean man."

"I know." He put his hands on my ass and shoulders and effortlessly lifted my tired, bruised body—mud and all. "I'm so mean, I'm going to draw you a bath now."

I groaned in relief. "Earlier statement retracted. I'm so keeping you."

.

*.*.*

.

 _A/N I know, I know, it's very short, BUT it's already taken me weeks to write something because I was on vacation, so I thought I'd just get it out instead of having an even longer stretch of radio silence here. A lot of people guessed a visit to ComicCon, which I liked, but I think Bella would've liked that too. Muggle Quidditch actually exists. All of this is real, even the human Snitch with a tennis-ball-in-sock-tail. I'm sure lots of people like it but I just...can't. Nope._

 _Thank you, Alice's White Rabbit, for your awesome and fast beta work!_

 _Thanks to everyone who reviewed when I was away, and thanks to everyone who's voted for Flushed at Twifanfictionrecs! :)_

 _And thanks to you, readers, for sticking with this random ass story ;)_


	22. Chapter 22: The Wedding

_**Chapter 22 - Wedding day**_

 **Sorry this is late. Unemployment means lots of free time but it also means endlessly writing motivation letters and those are a lot less fun and a lot more energy-draining to write than this. Boo. At least this is a long chapter, heh.**

 **Thanks to my beta Alice's White Rabbit, and to my inspiration chicks, you know who you are.**

 **Thanks to everyone who reviewed. Holy shit, peeps, 900+ reviews!**

* * *

 _*Flop*_

 _*Flap_ *

"Hmmm."

 _*Flop*_

 _*Flap*_

"Flaccid penises are hella funny." I let the soft dick of my boyfriend flop back to the right as I lay my head on Edward's chest. "It's like a squishy joystick."

"If you're interested in having sex again in the future, you may want to stop calling it a squishy joystick."

I considered that for a second before once again flopping it back. "I don't know, man. I'm feeling pretty satisfied right now. The thought of more sex makes my vagina cringe."

This made Edward grin proudly, I guessed; I couldn't see it, but I swore I could feel it. "I wore you out," he boasted.

"I wish I had a snappy comeback for that to prove you wrong, but I don't, so that might actually mean you're right."

He chuckled and ran his fingers through my hair. "Well, you better dig up some energy 'cause it's going to be a long day."

He was right. We had two hours before we both had to be at The Rose for the event of the year: Mike and Jessica's wedding.

Yes, Mike and Jessica's wedding was being held at the place they work.

Also, I wasn't technically invited—I was hired. As a waitress. As the _only_ waitress, actually. Lovely. Edward _was_ technically invited—tacky pink and gold invite and all—but they later had the guts to change said invitation to a "please cook our food and cater our wedding without getting paid extra" kind of thing. We were both too flabbergasted or just too plain friendly to tell them to shove it.

Edward and I reluctantly showered separately—know your weaknesses and all that—and managed to step through the crumbling entrance of The Rose an hour later.

You know it's gonna be a bad day when the first thing you hear is moaning and grunting, even if you can't see where the noise is coming from.

On the other hand, at least the soon-to-be-wedded couple was still going strong.

Edward cleared his throat, the noise clearly saying, "I had nothing stuck in my throat, but I'd like to let you know you're no longer alone in the restaurant." The moaning and grunting died down quickly, only to be replaced by Jessica's recognizable giggle, and two faces—both red and sweaty—popped up from behind the bar.

I shook my head to rid myself of the mental image and went on to change into my work outfit instead. I feared I was becoming numb to the constant stream of unwanted sexual acts people insisted on performing in front of me. This place did crazy things to one's mind, and it was definitely time I got my business degree so Edward and I could get out of here.

Regardless, it was still an omen of a day full of unwanted crap coming up, and, boy, was that prediction correct.

Two girls dressed in short, neon pink dresses—so tight I could see their belly buttons—walked in, carrying piles of fabric, just as I'd started to sweep the floors. Piles upon piles of pink, leopard-print fabric. It shouldn't have surprised me so much; after all, it did match the wedding invite, and Jessica was rarely clad in anything non-pink outside of work.

"Hi there, miss!" one of the neon pink girls squeaked as she noisily chewed her gum. "We're the bridesmaids, and we're just going to add a little spark to this place today! It's far too gloomy-looking for a wedding venue, dontcha think?"

I actually agreed with her. The aged dark wood that covered most of the interior was far from romantic. With its low, dark ceilings and single window, The Rose was a dark, glum place on a good day. It was amazing enough that people still came in for dinner; grasping the idea of holding a wedding here was beyond my intelligence.

The neon girls set to work, hanging wreaths of scrunched up fabric along the walls. The one still chewing gum produced a wad of pink tulle seemingly out of thin air, and added loofah-like puffs to the ends of the fabric.

I was motionless, holding on to my broom as if it was the only thing keeping me upright.

"When we get married, it's going to look absolutely nothing like this," Edward's sultry voice suddenly whispered in my ear. I jumped in surprise, and it took me a few seconds to process his words as I turned around to face him.

"When we get married, huh?"

He smiled sheepishly. "This is not a proposal, by the way."

"Right. You're just sort of predicting a proposal. That is doing nothing to lessen the freak-out I'm experiencing now."

He put his finger on his chin in an exaggerated thinking pose. "I'm sensing some conflicted feelings about marriage."

"Smart man," I agreed. "But it's not so much the marriage, it's the wedding that annoys me. Do you have time to hear me out or should we save the topic for another day?"

He smirked. "I should probably listen to this now before I've sold all my belongings to buy you an engagement ring."

"Well, let's start with nixing the engagement ring; that'll save you some money."

Edward's face was the picture of surprise.

"What?" I asked. "When have you ever seen me wear any sparkly jewelry? And what is the point of an engagement ring anyway?"

"Um," he mumbled. "To signify that we're going to get married?"

"Ahh, yes," I said in the tone of a teacher about to school her pupil. "But then why don't you get one?"

"I don't know; because I'm the one proposing?"

I felt rather like Socrates luring some poor unsuspecting fool into a dialogue as I leaned on my broom, pretending it was a microphone. "Right because the man is supposed to propose. Which is not even the most sexist thing about all these traditions. But seriously—for one thing, it's possible that the engagement ring fad started as a symbol of future claims, you know, literally possessiveness, and I just don't do well with that shit. For another, the current fashion of diamonds and spending shitloads of money on one ring was cooked up by a diamond cartel in the 1930s because they were trying to sell more jewelry. There is no romance behind this tradition, only excellent marketing."

My amazingly patient boyfriend leaned back against a bar stool and nodded. "I'm surprisingly okay with not spending two months' salary on a shiny ring."

"Well, that sort of knocked the wind out of my rant, but … good."

"Good. Anything else? Should I get pen and paper and write down your demands? Should I pronounce you the ultimate bridezilla as you're getting worked up over a wedding before any hypothetical proposal has even been made?" He grinned evilly, knowing full well he was taunting me.

"Keep it up and any type of wedding will always remain hypothetical, ass."

One of the neon girls interrupted us, placing a hand on my shoulder. I was instantly blinded by the bright pink of her nails and the fake diamonds glued on them.

Well, not really blinded obviously, but still, holy crap those things looked lethal.

"Hey, are you guys, like, doing okay?" she asked, genuine worry displayed beneath the layers of foundation on her face.

"Huh? Sure we are; why wouldn't we be?"

Edward laughed at my confusion. "Regular people might not understand the verbal abuse we throw at each other in the name of love, Cookie."

"Oh!" That was new. "Yeah, we're fine, thanks. It's looking great already!" It wasn't. The dark wood of the walls looked like it was puking out pink leopard print in regular intervals; the girls had now moved on to decorating the chairs with the rest of the pink tulle.

"Thanks. It's gorgeous, isn't it? Jessica's gonna love it!"

I agreed and idly wondered just how much Mike would love it, and whether his original fiancée would've planned a wedding quite this insane. Neon girl skipped back to her decorating duties, and I once again faced Edward, who by now was literally holding a writing pad and a pen. I stepped forward and quickly knocked both out of his hands with a serious lack of flair.

"My list of demands isn't long enough to warrant a writing pad. Just steer clear of things like 'asking my father for my hand in marriage,' or I'll kick your ass."

Edward chuckled. "Not romantic?"

I rolled my eyes. "You really want me to get into all the reasons that is the most horribly sexist tradition ever?"

Edward pretended to think it over then lazily shook his head. "I'll pass, thanks. Let me scratch 'ask Charlie for permission' from my to-do list real quick, okay?"

"Funny man. Also, no one will bloody well 'give me away,' thank you very much."

"Aww, but I was looking forward to receiving you like a pretty present," he mocked.

I ignored that bit. "All right, mister, how about you? What would you veto for a wedding?"

"Brown suits." He shuddered. "Jane—or the Bitch as you've heard Rosalie refer to her— planned everything when we got married. I didn't have much of a say in anything and went along with it, but then she stuck me in a brown suit, with a tie, and I looked more like a fifty-year-old office worker than the twenty-something groom I was. It's really no wonder that marriage didn't last long."

"Fair point. How about you pick your own suit?"

"Deal. And to continue, in general I'd just say … no big circus of a wedding. Ideally, I'd say a wedding is just about having fun, celebrating your love, and, I don't know—"

"Partying?"

"Well, yeah."

"No stuffiness, just fun and love."

"And cake."

"Not spending tens of thousands of dollars on a stuffy reception and wedding planners."

"Ignoring all traditions that we don't like."

"Such as not seeing each other before the wedding. That one originated when people had arranged marriages. If you don't see each other before the wedding, you're less likely to be appalled at your future spouse's physique and run away screaming. It's weird that this tradition still exists."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Plus, we both know you're not in the least turned off by my physique."

There was that smirk again.

"Like you'd flee the scene if I showed up in a pretty white dress."

His eyes glazed over for a second. Ha! I knew he'd like that mental image.

"So you'd don the traditional white dress, pure virginal angel that you are?"

I snorted as my mind was filled with images of our early morning activities. "I know, I know. But … you know. I wanna look pretty in a big white dress!" I whined.

"I have no objections to that. You go and look gorgeous then I get to kiss you in front of a bunch of people."

"Sounds like a plan."

"Except it's not," he reminded me with a sly grin. "Because we're not engaged."

"Right." Damn trickster.

"Right," he repeated with a smirk.

"Ahhh!" screamed one of the neon girls as she fell off a ladder.

*.*.*.*

The back room of the restaurant was fully prepped for dinner. Long tables set in a U-shape were covered with pink cloth; the shade differed from table to table because apparently the bridesmaids had only bought the stuff yesterday, and no store had enough bubblegum pink fabric lying around. Shiny, fake golden candelabras proudly displayed leopard print candles. I idly wondered how the hell they had managed to find those, and why regular white candles weren't good enough. I vowed never to become as crazy as bridezilla Jessica had to have been while planning this insane shindig. The aging, white ceramic plates with The Rose's logo printed on them looked tragically common between all the brightly colored kitsch and were vastly overshadowed by centerpieces consisting of chemically enhanced, bright pink roses.

I pinched myself, needing to know whether I was actually stuck in a hellish nightmare, but the scenery stayed the same. I felt a little sick knowing I was responsible for creating this horror; I'd been setting the tables and adding decorations—per neon girls' instructions—for the better part of the past three hours. For now, my work was done; I didn't have an official role during the ceremony and neither did Edward, so we had planned to hide in the back and watch the train wreck.

In the front of the restaurant, fifty dark oak chairs covered in pink tulle had been crammed into the room. There was no room for an altar; the building's size mandated that the chairs were pointed in the direction of a sullen, dark corner of the restaurant, which was slightly more decorated than the rest of the walls; two layers of leopard print wreaths hung from the ceiling.

Colorfully clad people had begun to fill the room. From our corner, Edward and I could clearly hear them talk, complaining about the chairs' firmness and, incredibly, praising the decor.

Mike showed up and took his place at the non-altar. He was wearing a crinkled black suit, one he regularly wore at work, and a white shirt that was two sizes too small, as all his clothing usually was. He fidgeted nervously, fiddling with his cufflinks, running a hand through his greasy hair, and hooking a finger behind his collar to loosen it. Even from the back of the room, I could tell his fly was open—a bit of bright red, boxer shorts fabric peeked out. For a second or two, I looked around the room, hoping to notice someone about to warn him of said fact but, before anyone could, The Wind Beneath My Wings blasted from the restaurant's ancient sound system, and the wedding was officially afoot.

Now there are pretty wedding dresses and ugly wedding dresses, and I'd binge-watched enough _Say Yes to the Dress_ to know I didn't like a whole bunch of styles. But even so, I'd never imagined in my life coming across anything quite as ugly as Jessica's dress.

I'd never imagined a dress like Jessica's existed, to be honest. My eyeballs bulged out of their sockets as I watched Jess breeze down the makeshift aisle.

It was, in _Say Yes to the Dress_ lingo, a strapless ball gown with a corseted top, but that was also a summary of all the normal bits.

The top was a light pink, leopard print fabric, filled to the cleavage with sequins and shiny fake diamonds. The bling was just as overwhelming as the leopard print, and I squinted a bit, trying to take in the bigger picture.

The skirt was all vertical ruffles and tulle, a gigantic fluffy mess of a thing in mostly bright pink, with some ruffles in white and some in the same leopard print as the top. They made a nice whooshing sound as the bride walked to her groom with a proud smile on her neon pink lips.

The justice of the peace looked a little horrified at the sight of the bride. Jess reached Mike and giggled happily; Mike shot her a look that screamed devotion or horniness, and all I could think was how well these two were suited for each other.

" _Nothing_ like this," Edward whispered in my ear, and I flew a foot in the air because I'd been so hypnotized by the cotton candy leopard dress that I'd totally forgotten about Edward standing next to me.

"Huh?" I whispered back after my heart had calmed down a little again.

"Just repeating that our wedding will be nothing like this." His lips touched the shell of my ear as he breathed the words, and I shuddered, goosebumps covering my arms from both the sensation and the sentiment. I had a hard time dealing with today, from watching this neon-colored train wreck of a wedding to all this planning of possible future nuptials, and it was definitely starting to confuse my poor brain, so I just nodded dumbly at Edward as he wrapped his arms around me from behind.

We kept quiet as we watched the ceremony, which was graciously short and painless, except for the moment the justice of the peace called Jessica "Linda," and the entire room realized he'd initially been hired for Mike's wedding to his previous fiancée.

"Newton sure is excellent at re-using things," Edward mumbled. "The minister and the engagement ring for two fiancées, the venue for work and wedding, his own staff as catering …"

"Very efficient indeed," I agreed. "But if you try that same tactic and you do anything at all that bears a resemblance to your previous wedding, you're gonna get your ass kicked."

Edward made a serious face at me just as Mike and Jessica were pronounced husband and wife. "Duly noted, ma'am."

The catering Edward had been forced into came with a list of demands from both bride and groom which were entirely incompatible and clearly had not been discussed between the two members of the happy couple. Jessica wanted lobsters and caviar, literally. According to the scribbled note Edward showed me, Mike wanted "the usual Rose 12 bucks menu but with less vegtables to make it cheeper," spelling errors and all. Edward had settled for a mixture of the two, adding a little more luxury than his boss would've liked because it would have been far too embarrassing to serve the cheapest crap we had at a wedding. He'd been sort of stressed about it all day because a wedding is a big deal, and he didn't want anyone to get angry about it. I was fairly certain he'd had at least one nightmare in which Mike would yell at Jessica during the dinner because there were expensive shrimp on his plate.

As everyone started on their main courses, I shared a look with Edward. I hadn't dropped any plates or glasses, and everyone seemed to like their food. Everyone was crammed together in the small dining room, making the atmosphere muggy, but they seemed happy enough. Jess and Mike were obnoxiously feeding each other bits of salmon. Parents were getting to know acquaintances, neon bridesmaids chatted with the few co-workers who had received a proper invite, and Rose and Emmett—who, for some reason, were both on the guest list—were flirting away happily while Edward remained as oblivious as ever to his daughter's possible love life.

I was almost ready to silently congratulate myself on an evening without drama and wedding fails, but just thinking about it jinxed the success of the evening.

"So how's Linda?" Mike's mother asked her son. She'd seemed reasonably friendly to the bride all day, and I wasn't the only one who was surprised that she'd bring up the ex-fiancée. Then again, she had been a little liberal with the amount of alcohol she'd poured down her throat. A few people dropped their forks and knives to listen in on the train wreck waiting to happen.

"Um. Good, I think," Mike mumbled around the spoonful of portobello in his mouth.

"She was always such a nice lady. So classy." The gloves were clearly coming off. Mrs. Newton took another swig of red wine, emptying her glass, and waved at me. "Yoooo-hooo, waitress girl, get me another one!"

Figuring that cutting her off wasn't the right move at this moment, I quickly walked over to refill her glass.

"Way to talk about being classy," neon bridesmaid number one mumbled angrily, but she was sitting right across from Mrs. Newton, who may have been drunk but not deaf.

Mrs. Newton slapped a hand on the table, hard. Silverware clanged noisily and the golden candelabras swayed. A few people held on tighter to their wine glasses. Almost no one in the small room was still eating, aside from an old uncle of Jessica's, who was stuffing his face with green beans like a fat guy at an all-you-can-eat buffet two minutes before closing time.

"You wouldn't know class if it hit you in the face, if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord, singing 'class is here, class is here!'"

I snorted, almost spilling the wine I was pouring.

"Take that back!" the bridesmaid yelled, digging her leopard print inch-long acrylic nails into the tablecloth.

But Mama Newton was in full-blown, drunken bitch mode now, and there was no stopping her. "Oh, can it, you plastic, neon, leopard-puke Barbie!"

Jessica gasped at the language her brand new mother-in-law was using. Mike looked shell-shocked, a fork still in his hand, which had stopped halfway to his mouth. I frantically tried to think of ways to calm everyone down while, okay, I admit, secretly enjoying the clusterfuck of a fight scene this was turning out to be. It's not that I thought Jessica deserved a shitty wedding. It's just that witnessing a mess like this was better than a Jersey Shore marathon on a sick day. I filled another few glasses of wine for people and just stood there, transfixed on my first row position for this drama.

The other half of the neon bridesmaid team had left her seat at the other side of the room and was walking toward Mrs. Newton. I watched in fascination as she marched over in her pink stilettos, determination on her face, and I tried to bet with myself whether she was coming to diffuse the drama or to sucker punch Mrs. Newton in the face.

I didn't get the chance to see it through, though. Mrs. Newton had seen her coming and flailed her arms wildly in a gesture that said "come and get it, you little bitch," along with yelling the actual words, "Come and get it, you little bitch," but she'd forgotten she was still holding her wine glass, now completely full thanks to yours truly, and the red liquid went flying everywhere. Big drops of wine hit Mr. Newton—who had, so far, been entirely silent and passive—in the face. I took a step back, but my pristine white shirt still got sprayed like a Dexter blood spatter, and the rest of the liquid ended up on poor Jessica, on her amply displayed cleavage, her foundation-filled face, and her horrid dress. The glass had clearly held a lot of liquid.

Jessica jumped up, shocked at the sudden splash of wine all over her, knocking her chair backward straight into the table that held the gigantic four-tier wedding cake. It was a monstrous thing, far too large for the relatively modest-sized guest list, all pink and purple and leopard spots, because, boy, Jessica really knew how to stick to a theme. As the chair hit the table, only the cake topper trembled—one of those where the groom's trying to get away but is being dragged back by the bride, in white, because apparently they don't make these particular ones in pink.

I let out a sigh of relief as the monstrosity appeared to hold steady, but then Mike jumped up, late to the party as always, yelling "That's enough, Mother!". He lost his balance as he did, and as if it were slow motion, we all watched helplessly as he waved his arms about, trying to stay upright, and failed, falling backward, dropping his entire overweight body into the cake. A loud crack announced the end of that particular table, and the groom, the cake, and pieces of oak formed a messy pile on the floor. I could only groan and cover my eyes, as if that would make all the horror go away.

*.*.*

Edward was the man of the evening. He'd taken charge in a way that was both highly efficient and a major turn-on for yours truly. Thanks to his intervention, Mrs. Newton was sleeping off her intoxication in a back room on a bed of kitchen towels. Both Mike and Jessica had been fixed up to the best of our abilities. There was nothing to be done about Mike's cake-covered jacket, but the white shirt was still relatively clean and so taking off the outer layer solved that. Jessica's makeup was quickly redone by her friends, and the busy patterns and colors of her dress hid the fact that the added wine-colored spots were not part of the original design. The cake had been ruined, but there was enough leftover pie in the fridge to feed the guests, and no one seemed to mind eating blueberry pie instead of fancy wedding cake.

For the rest of the evening, the entire wedding party pretended to be happy and fine and friendly in a Stepford wives kind of way; a little disturbing, but all in all the best case scenario. When the endless playlist of 90s music finally ended at 1 AM and Jessica and Mike left the scene, both bride and groom looked genuinely happy, and I supposed that was what mattered most.

When everyone was gone, I was left in a sea of leopard-print fabric, pink decoration, and spilled cake crumbs everywhere, and I sank to the confetti-and-food-covered floor in sheer exhaustion.

"Now, I know there isn't much we can do to prevent cake and wine disasters, but still …" Edward's voice came from behind me. "Nothing, _nothing_ like this."

"That still better not be a proposal," I mumbled.

"I wouldn't dare. C'mon, Cookie. Let's get this place clean and go home."

I groaned at the prospect of cleaning this mess and let my upper body fall down, lying spread-eagled on the dirty floor. Edward chuckled and grabbed a broom, starting to sweep around my tired body. The next time I opened my eyes, I was in his arms, being carried to the restaurant's front door, away from the room that was suddenly so clean it was almost sparkling.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **So… the past two chapters were sort of interludes, and now we're getting back to the plot, if in this story you can really claim there is a plot of any kind to begin with, ha. But their relationship is strong, and at times silly, and Bella's still ranting like crazy, and I'm very curious to hear what you think of her views on weddings, and whether any of you have ever just played around with a boyfriend's flaccid dick because honestly it's funny stuff.**

 **Credit: When Mrs. Newton starts with her 'you wouldn't know class…' bit, it's a variation on a quote from the brilliant Blackadder, who says "you wouldn't see a subtle plan if it painted itself purple and danced naked on top of a harpsichord, singing "Subtle plans are here again!""**

 **Jessica's dress, hellish that it is, actually exists. I posted a picture on my facebook group Lotus Wri(gh)tings, where you're all welcome. You can also find the wedding invite there.**


	23. Chapter 23

**Whoops, that took longer than planned. I am definitely finishing this fic though :)**

 **The usual: Twilight isn't mine. My beta, Alice's White Rabbit, is awesome. Thanks for reading. On with the show.**

* * *

"I'll have the steak, _very_ well done, please. I don't want to see any red meat in there." The dude cleared his throat unnecessarily, one of those fake throat rumbles, and I had no idea why it annoyed me so much, but it did.

I tried to be a good person and not judge others without valid reasons, but sometimes … Sometimes, I met people I just hated instantly. Hi! Poof—hatred. That simple. This dude was one of them.

He just kept adjusting his collar and tie, and buttoning and unbuttoning his jacket. It was possible I was overanalyzing things based on my earlier instant prejudice toward the man, but all his movements seemed less like nervous habits and more like trying to show off the shiny cufflinks, the big watch, and the fancy suit.

Also, he made a big show of acting chivalrous and letting his date walk in first-ladies first and all that jazz-but I figured that had more to do with her ass than with manners, judging from the way his eyes were glued to her ample derrière.

"She'll have the seizure salad," he continued with a practiced wave of nonchalance in his date's direction.

I may have choked on my spit a little bit. "I'm sorry, the what?"

He attempted to raise his eyebrow as if completely outraged by my question but failed because the bitch brow will only serve those worthy enough of the bitch brow, so I raised my own eyebrow and waited for him to repeat what he said.

"The seizure salad, ma'am," he repeated sternly, then grinned a self-satisfied white-toothed grin at his date, who stared at him with an impressively blank look on her face.

Now I had read enough clickbait stories about bad spelling on the internet to know that people manage to spell Caesar salad in weird ways. I also knew Caesar was a weird word. I never realized someone could mispronounce it so gloriously though.

In related news, one of my biggest _what really grinds my gears_ -things was when dudes ordered for their dates. What was up with that? This wasn't the first time I had seen this since I started working at The Rose. Sometimes, it happened with older couples, the ones who were completely in tune with each other, heavenly harmony and all that crap, and I could maybe justify it as just knowing what the love of your life likes to eat when you've been together for a long time.

But, most of the time, this happened on dates. First dates.

Now to be honest, if you took your date to a place as shabby as The Rose on a first date, it probably wasn't going to end well anyway. But not even shutting up long enough to let the woman order her own damn food was just a sign of bad, bad things to come.

I turned to make eye contact with the woman, who just shrugged and raised an eyebrow at me as if to say, "I know, right? Don't worry about me, he's not getting any." It's entirely possible I imagined this and that she's perfectly all right with her date ordering her a salad, but I chose not to interpret her gestures that way.

"Right. One steak well done, one Caesar salad coming up."

We didn't have to walk back to the kitchen to tell the chef what people ordered-there was a nifty electronic system for that-but obviously I never passed up the opportunity to drop by to see Edward in his element. Even on a day like today, when Mr. Seizure Salad and his date were two of only six people dining at The Rose, Edward was seemingly always busy. Either that or he was just unable to keep still for longer than a few seconds, which I deemed a fairly realistic scenario.

Also, this was just too good to pass up.

"Hey, chef," I greeted Edward. We were both very adult and professional and serious and therefore never engaged in any lovey-dovey stuff and kissing and such, and oh hell, who am I kidding? Of course, we did. But right now, people could theoretically see us from the restaurant, and even I was professional enough to avoid acting like a clingy girlfriend at the moment. "I've got a good one for you."

Edward smiled expectantly at me as he juggled several other activities, throwing butter in a pan, yelling at Emmett to get the asparagus, and flipping some potatoes. "Do tell, Miss Swan."

I cleared my throat obnoxiously because that's how I roll. "Ahem. One steak, very well done, please," I started.

Edward interrupted me with a groan. It was kind of an elitist thing, I thought, these unspoken rules of the culinary world, but apparently, it was a deadly sin to order a steak well done because steaks always needed to be medium rare.

I had once told him I never ate steak because my poor old dad wasn't much of a cook, and whenever he tried to cook steak, it ended up tasting like a car tire. He'd looked proud and said, "And that's what you get when you order a steak well done," and was unimpressed by my shrugs. I was never going to be a culinary savant, but I did thoroughly enjoy giving him these kinds of orders, knowing part of him was eager to get up and argue with the man who ordered this.

"Wait, wait, you steak snob. It gets better. He says the lady would like to eat a Seizure Salad."

For two seconds, his face was blank, processing that incredible misuse of words, then he chuckled my favorite chuckle, the one that made me weak in the knees, and I grinned along with him.

"Promise me you'll never order my food unless I specifically request you to," I said solemnly.

Edward took the same stern posture, put his hand on his heart, and nodded. "Nothing like that," and that said it all.

Nothing like that, indeed.

Ever since Jessica and Mike's neon, leopard print wedding mess three months ago, "nothing like that" had become our mantra in lieu of expressing our judgment of other people in more words.

Yeah, we were horrible people, but honestly, everyone judges others a little bit, right?

So when we saw a woman walk around in a skintight, red, napkin-sized dress, with a face that defied age thanks to a massive amount of plastic surgery, we didn't comment on her giant lips or the way her facial muscles couldn't do anything anymore. We just looked at each other, and Edward begged, "Nothing like that, please?" and I just nodded.

Or when we went shopping and I spotted a man in the food court, eating a pile of pizzas and drinking beer at 10 a.m. and shouting at passersby, all that was needed was a, "Nothing like that, please," from me, and Edward enthusiastically agreed.

On the subway, once, I spotted a girl squished into a corner seat because her boyfriend was manspreading so much she barely even fit in there. That was worthy of a, "Nothing like that," too.

There were other instances, mostly at The Rose because that place just seems to attract the weird and the nasty, and I don't want to go into what that says about me.

Once, Alice came in with her cupcakes and was knocked over by a grumpy man who didn't even stop to help her up, and all her cupcakes were ruined, which was just plain tragic.

There was an elderly couple who spent the entire night fighting with each other. A power couple who spent the entire meal typing and talking on their cell phones and didn't look up once, not to me, not to take in their admittedly lousy surroundings, not to look each other in the eyes, and I was fairly sure the only words they spoke were their respective food and drink orders.

Or that date, obviously a first date, which seemed to go well enough until the man gave me a lengthy once-over, gaze lingering on my breasts, and greeted me with a, "Hey, sugar." Ew.

Our "what not to do" list grew longer and longer as time passed. The "what to actually" do list was non-existent, but then, we were always good at flying by the seat of our pants in this relationship, ignoring everything but our instincts and our feelings, and that seemed to work well enough so far. Somehow, we managed to build a really strong bond, and have an amazing relationship, despite how incompatible we seemed on paper, despite our age gap, despite the toxic work environment filled with crazy people like—ah, … Speak of the devil.

"Ohmygosh, Bella." Jessica fanned herself as she found me near the kitchen, interrupting my talk with Edward. "You totally got the hot guy for tonight. So jealous!" She squealed, her voice an unnaturally high pitch, and I stared at her wide-eyed and confused.

"Well, I've got the hot guy every night," I said because how could I not say it? "Wink, wink, nudge, nudge," I added, sticking my tongue out at Edward, who just rolled his eyes. "But what are you talking about specifically?"

Jessica tapped her foot and popped her gum—completely forbidden during working hours unless you're married to the manager, of course—as she faced me with impatience. "I mean the hottie at table three, _obvi_! I get that you snagged Edward and all, but do you not pay attention to the hot stuff sitting at your tables anymore?"

The guy is immortalized in my mind in small compartments—expensive suit, unhappy with his collar and tie, show-off with money, and orders for his date. My extraordinarily picky memory came through for me again. I remembered his shiny golden cufflinks, monogrammed ones even, and his stupid striped tie, but for the life of me, I didn't remember his face at all. Must not have been very memorable.

"Naturally, he cannot have been more attractive than your husband," I teased with a hint of sarcasm. The wonderful thing about Jessica was that she was dumb enough not to understand sarcasm at all. She was a bottomless pit of happy acceptance for the snarkier of my comments, for the worst of my days, the hangovers, and the first-day-period hells I lived through, and for that, I loved her.

"Of course not!" Jessica gasped. "No one comes close to Mikey," she continued, all the while batting her lashes at Edward and bending down in an unnatural pose to give him a view of her cleavage. Way to keep it classy, Jess.

Edward ignored her. It was my turn to roll my eyes. Jess and Mike had had a successful-for-them wedding and had gone off on a honeymoon to his hometown, some Podunk, middle-of-nowhere place, where they'd apparently eaten dinner at his momma's house every day. This was shared with their colleagues with a great degree of enthusiasm by both. In my most skeptical moments, I imagined Momma Newton putting pot in her mashed potatoes to keep the kids happy and close to her, but I managed not to speak out loud. I could totally filter. Uh huh.

I digressed.

Point was, Mike and Jess returned from their honeymoon triumphant, happy, and a few pounds fatter, and dove straight back into work; nothing had really changed. Mike still didn't do shit at work, still wore the same size clothing, fitting around his belly even worse than before. Jessica still popped her gum and flirted with Edward, with admirable if not misguided insistency and stamina.

"Save me," Edward mouthed at me as Jessica purred and winked at him again. I was just mean enough to giggle and silently wish him luck before returning to the horrible date table and serve them their wine.

I was curious to see how the date would progress, and if the girl would ever speak up against his behavior, but I didn't get a chance to see the end of their dinner. As I poured our cheap house wine in his glass, one of the mice that had made the restaurant their home audibly walked inside the drop ceiling above their heads, weakening the already poor quality ceiling panels—the cheap fiberboard kind that had been there since the 70s—and an impressive shower of dust, tiny bits of rock and fiberboard, and a smattering of mouse poop rained down on the unfortunate couple, who ran out very quickly.

"Do you think they'll close the restaurant now?" I asked Edward later that night as we closed the doors to The Rose. The ceiling had been fixed, a few more mouse traps laid out—but I swear those fuckers were mutant mice and would never die—and the rest of the evening progressed as if no mouse poop had ever fallen from the ceiling.

"Hmmm, I doubt it." Edward shrugged.

"I realize I'm not all that up to date with rules and regulations, but isn't there some kind of Food Safety Inspection? I'm fairly sure today's incident would not fly with government officials."

He shrugged again. "If there's one thing Aro's good at, it's deceiving the government and getting them all to play golf with him to smooth over any issues that may arise and then poof! All is solved."

This seemed profoundly sad to me. "How very depressing. I was looking forward to remaining a slightly naïve person a little while longer, yet you have opened my eyes to the cruelties of this world's politics and schemes."

"Hey," he said as he playfully bumped into my shoulder. "The whole 'nothing like this' motto goes for our future restaurant, too, you know. We'll be outrageously successful and universally adored, without having to suck up to grumpy old men on the golf course."

"Why, Mr. Cullen, you say the sweetest things."

"I know. You, on the other hand, are an evil woman."

"Me? What did I do?" I asked, astonished at this sudden change of topic.

Edward put a sad puppy look on his face. "I beg you to save me from Jessica's panther print nails, and you laugh and leave me alone with her. She actually suggested a quickie in the walk-in fridge. I do not want to know all the places in that restaurant she has had sex. It's still messing with my mind."

I batted my eyelashes obnoxiously. "Why, certainly, sir, I could not possibly know what you mean!"

He rolled his eyes. "Your British accent has not improved. Anyway, I thought I'd just give you a heads-up about my revenge."

Uh oh. That immediately stopped the batting-of-eyelashes and fake coyness. Revenge, as served by Edward, was nothing to trifle with. I waited silently for him to continue.

"Next week, Rose turns seventeen. We're going to have a family dinner, and your presence is mandatory. It'll be Rose, Ben, and both of my parents."

I gulped.

I had, with increasing difficulty, managed to avoid seeing Edward's father for the past few months, ever since the porn incident. It took all the creativity I had in me to come up with excuses. I knew full well Edward saw through all my mumblings about unexpected extra classes and friendship emergencies, but he didn't press me on it, knowing how much I hated to be reminded of that particular day.

I had, by now, also met Esme, Edward's mother, if only for five minutes once when she stopped by The Rose to grab some coffee. She didn't seem at all interested in meeting me, as if meeting the girlfriend was an unfortunate consequence of dropping in on her son at work. There was nothing in her countenance or words to recommend her to me, and while Edward assured me she would warm up to me, I had my doubts.

Seeing Ben was always fun-I never held the Quidditch mess against him. He'd had fun that day, despite the mess and the mud, and he hadn't had the sore muscles I had to deal with the next day either, on account of his actually being somewhat physically active in his daily life, as opposed to Bella Swan, Couch Potato Extraordinaire.

Finally, there was Rose. She still came by the restaurant pretty often, and I was certain Edward thought we were bonding and was delighted about this fact. In actuality, she came by to discreetly flirt with Emmett. They had it down to a science, knowing exactly when Edward went to the storage, the fridge, or the freezer, and how much time that would give them for less covert gestures before he'd return. I felt like a very important secret keeper, and surely, the fact that I hadn't blabbed to Edward about this young romance scored me some brownie points with Rose, but other than that, bonding was still at level zero.

The whole family in one room, for the length of a dinner party with me, stumbling through social interactions in general? That was revenge, indeed. "Well played, sir," I acknowledged.

* * *

 **So we're racing through time now. Time for life to get started… but first, a dinner with Carlisle and Esme. I'm sure that'll go well…**

 **Thanks for reading. Leave me a review? We're getting SO CLOSE to 1,000 reviews and that is just such an unfathomable number to me. I love each and every one of your reviews even if I suck at replying. Really.**


	24. Chapter 24: Cullen family dinner

**Hi! It's been a while. We made 1000+ reviews, holy crap peeps! Thank you so much!**

 **Let's get moving shall we? We have a family dinner to get to.**

* * *

The week, of course, passed much too quickly. I dreaded the upcoming family dinner like I dreaded my first bikini wax—you know it's going to suck, you know it's going to be painful, and you can do nothing but wait until the hard part's over until you can breathe a sigh of relief and get on with your life again.

I wanted to beg Edward to cancel this dinner, but that would've been incredibly unfair of me. This was his family, and it made sense that he'd want to spend time with them. It wasn't his fault I was so bad at forced social interactions. It was no one's fault I couldn't look Cullen senior in the eye without thinking of my worst experience with porn ever. And I just wasn't like Edward, who could flirt his way out of prison, if need be, I was sure. Things tended to lean more toward the awkward side whenever I was involved.

Despite my busy schedule of classes, more classes, extra classes, and work, I found time enough to fret and bite away most of my nails. Edward lamented my nerves and made fun of me—I said I knew now how Mrs. Bennet felt in "Pride and Prejudice," with him having no compassion for my poor nerves, but of course, he'd never read it and then suggested I distract myself with something, anything, to make time go faster.

We must have broken some sort of sex record, I'm sure, in the days that followed.

Still, there were times when Edward had to work, and I was distracted by my homework because of infinite procrastination skills, and well, three days later, all the walls in our colorful apartment were a healthy, bright, creamy white; all the furniture was rearranged; one wall was now covered in framed photos of Edward, me, and Edward's kids; and the hallway walls were now a gorgeous mossy green instead of bright orange. I finished the last few walls and the decorations on the day before the dreaded dinner, working myself into a frenzy from 7 AM to midnight, only stopping for a quick walk to the Mexican take-out place on the corner. Edward may or may not have taken a photo of me painting the walls with half a taco stuffed in my mouth.

Seven months of living together, seven months of looking at seizure-inducing colored walls, and all it took to repaint them was the threat of a family visit so unnerving I needed a huge distraction to get through the week.

Edward, of course, thought it was hilarious, but he did admit the whole place felt a lot lighter and more spacious, calmer and homier now.

*.*.*.*

I dreaded seeing Carlisle more than I dreaded spending the evening with Esme, and that was my first mistake.

In Esme's company, Carlisle turned into a curious background figure, an accessory to his wife. She commanded and he obeyed, sometimes without words. Like an amateur anthropologist, I was amazed at their interactions and what I deemed the result of decades of marriage, all protest and personal opinion carefully worn off.

Esme stood in front of Carlisle, taller and more imposing than her husband, who had a completely different posture than the last time I saw him. He had seemed stately, tall; I don't know, I'd have said fierce if the association with Tyra wasn't so damn present with that word. Now, he was a lapdog, a shadow trailing behind his wife, and when she snapped her fingers and put a bowl with dog food on the floor, I seriously thought I'd now witness Carlisle Cullen dropping on all fours to crunch on the kibbles. It was almost an anti-climax when a tiny, fluffy, rat-sized dog showed up instead and attacked its food, growling with all the might of an angry toddler.

"You had to bring the dog, Mom?" Edward sounded a little irritated. I figured there wasn't much love lost between him and the rat.

"Oh, shush," Esme dismissed him. "I couldn't leave poor Brutus all alone at home; he gets so vewwy wonewy, don't you, Bwutus?" She crouched down in her immaculate shiny pantsuit—who wears a shiny pantsuit to a family dinner?—and continued muttering nonsensical sounds in a talking-to-a-baby voice, scratching the thing behind its ears as it ate. The dog ignored her completely.

"Brutus seems an original name for—" I started, the most positive spin I could give this wondering of mine, because seriously, naming a dog that could fit into a tea cup "Brutus" seemed a little excessive.

Esme interrupted as if she hadn't heard me, and in fact, I realized that she hadn't actually acknowledged my presence at all yet. "And, besides, it's always good to have her around in case I don't enjoy your food again, son," she exclaimed and cackled loudly.

I was amazed at her rudeness, but Edward just rolled his eyes. "Yes, Mom, you're a regular riot. Now, come in please? Dinner's ready."

She stepped farther into the apartment, bypassing me without a glance. "Oh, I do hope you didn't make that dreadfully strange dish again that you made the last time you introduced a girl to us. What was it again? Crap, carp, something?"

"It was carpaccio, Mother, which is neither dreadful nor strange, and it's been years. Can we focus on today, please? You haven't said a word to Bella yet, and you're being rude."

"Oh, dear, someone's in a foul mood," she sneered. "I've simply been occupied talking to you, haven't I? Bella knows I don't mean to be rude. There's nothing to forgive, surely." And with that interesting dismissal of both my presence and my opinions, she continued glancing around the rooms. Carlisle followed obediently, sparing me a silent half-smile.

"Well, this is different," she stated, looking at the newly painted walls.

"Yeah," Edward agreed. "Bella did most of it. It's nice, isn't it?" I realized he'd probably deliberately asked for her opinion in this way instead of just asking, "What do you think?"—this way was easier to obtain a positive answer. Edward must have been training all his life to communicate properly with his mother. It seemed exhausting to me, and I, with my lack of filter and decorum, would surely fail to keep things agreeable if we spent too much time in the same room together. _Danger, danger,_ my mind said. Rein in all your instincts and swallow all your words because you're gonna need it to remain civil with this woman.

"Bella did this, hmmm?" She looked around silently for another minute, eventually studying the wall of family photos in which she was also included. "I do hope you're not trying to change yourself for this relationship, Edward."

I was flabbergasted, and almost giggled, because any time I thought the word "flabbergasted," I was instantly amused, but in reality, I felt like I'd entered a whole separate dimension where speaking like this was somehow acceptable.

"I'm not changing myself. We just changed some walls." Edward's words came out with a near growl, and I feared this dinner would end in bloodshed and murder.

"Well," Esme said and sighed. "I suppose I never did see why you would use all those horrid colors that were here before. Is dinner ready yet?" And with that, she sat down at the table, and the subject was apparently over and done with.

Rose and Ben showed up shortly after, and dinner started peacefully, although I kept watching Esme and Carlisle—Esme because I expected the polite, immaculately dressed woman to turn back into the raging shrew any minute now; and Carlisle because I was mostly just waiting for him to show me that he was actually the same human being as before and not some mute robot. Neither happened, and Edward and his kids filled most of the first course with small talk.

"Hey, Dad," Ben started as Edward and I put the soup bowls away to make room for the second course. "I like the new look of the place. Looks homey and all. It suits you and Bella."

Oh, bless his adorable teenage heart. I wanted to hug him, put him underneath a neon sign, and shout at Esme, "See, this is how you treat people!"

I stayed silent.

"Thanks, Ben. That means a lot." Edward had a sweet smile on his face, and I knew Ben's comment really did warm his heart. I didn't get to see Edward-the-father in action too often, so I relished the sweetness he displayed as he continued. "You know you and Rose are always welcome here, right? This doesn't cease to be a place for you just because Bella lives here, too."

"I know, Dad. Don't worry about it. Bella and I are cool, right, Bella?"

"Definitely, and for as long a period of time as passes without any human Quidditch matches," I solemnly agreed.

Ben laughed. "See? Bella's cool. You did good."

"To be honest," Esme started suddenly, "I always thought he was gay."

"Wait, who, what?" Edward and I asked simultaneously. I assumed she was talking about Edward, but she wasn't looking in his direction at all, instead focusing on the tablecloth as she smoothed over the invisible creases with her impeccably manicured fingers.

As she didn't immediately reply to our questions, Edward tried again. "You thought I was gay?"

Ben giggled, his changing, teenage voice cracking mid-laugh. Esme shrugged, a surprisingly undignified gesture from someone who had been the picture of prim and proper so far. "Well, yes. Your last marriage was such a fiasco I was certain you only did it for some mutual benefit I didn't know about because Lord knows there wasn't any love lost there. And you never showed any interest in all the daughters of my knitting club friends that I tried to hook you up with. I certainly wasn't expecting …" Here she made another crude gesture, waving her hand in my direction with disdain. "This."

Neither Edward nor I knew how to respond to that at first. I dared a quick glance at Carlisle, who locked eyes with me and placed an exaggerated expression on his face, complete with eye rolls and a less-than-subtle nod in Esme's direction, as if we were sharing a secret understanding of how awful his wife was acting, and that somehow made us peers.

Edward eventually recovered. "Mom, Bella and I love each other very much. I'm absolutely certain we're going to get married one day. It would be nice if you could stop being so hateful."

Esme completely ignored his last statement and latched on to the former. "What? Marriage? Again? Don't you think that's a little tacky, Edward? Your last marriage lasted what, a year or so, and yet here you are jumping into these things with a girl who was barely out of diapers when you got divorced?"

Ouch. Momma Cullen sure knew how to hit where it hurt.

"I'm not wrong, am I? We could reminisce about how you had an embarrassing ABBA phase, but your girlfriend wasn't even born then. We could talk about how she went to high school while you were raising two children. It is completely beyond the realm of my comprehension how meshing these two worlds could possibly work out." She sighed dramatically. "Lord knows being gay would've been a more suitable option," she stated. "Even though I don't agree with that lifestyle at all."

I always prided myself on my ability to call people out for their bullshit, but my brain would not comprehend what was actually happening right now, and I gaped at her like a fish. It took Edward a few seconds to recover, too. He pinched the bridge of his nose and bristled angrily. "Mom. You're being disrespectful to me, to Bella, and to anyone who's gay, and frankly, I don't even know how to respond to this nonsense. Take this shit back or leave."

What followed was the most intense adult staring contest I had ever been a witness to, with neither Edward nor Esme backing down. Carlisle seemed amused, used to his wife's behavior, no doubt. Not even Brutus' squeak-barking could break their concentration. I locked eyes with Ben and Rose, who both looked as bewildered as I did.

"I'm gay."

That did, in fact, break the staring contest, and mother and son both looked at Ben.

"Oh," Esme said.

Edward, in full-on dad mode, walked to his son, gave him a fierce hug, and just said, "Okay, son. I love you."

That's about where the onions really started to irritate my eyes, and I grabbed a napkin to wipe away the tears. Damn onions.

Esme was mute throughout the rest of the dinner, and interestingly, the whole affair was suddenly lighthearted and fun. Even Carlisle seemed to gain a little personality as soon as his wife shut up, and the atmosphere was friendly and cozy as we ate and drank and laughed and talked.

"So, do you have a boyfriend, Ben?" Carlisle asked, oblivious to his wife's anger about the subject.

"Um, no." Ben blushed and looked down, every bit the typical teenager. I wanted to state that I knew very well how almost no teenager would enjoy talking about his love life, but I figured that would be answered by Esme with, "That's because you're barely out of your teens," either mentally or out loud, and I wasn't risking that.

"Very well, very well. Just be sure to have both condoms and lube at the ready when you do, boy," Carlisle continued as if he was talking about the weather. "You're always going to want to be safe, and comfortable."

"And there goes my appetite," Rose piped up as she dropped her fork. She hadn't said much throughout dinner but was still fairly pleasant company; ever since she and Royce were over, she had become a much nicer person.

"Um. Yeah. Thanks, I think, Grandpa?" Ben stammered. "But, really, talking about this stuff with my grandfather is really uncomfortable so, um, can we skip this?"

"All right, all right, I get it. It's awkward. But, hey, at least I didn't walk in on you watching porn, unlike with some people!" And as he winked at me with all the subtlety of a cartoon anvil dropping on someone's head, he burst out laughing.

Rose and Esme, the only two people who were not familiar with said mortifyingly awkward meeting, looked confused, and I could just count down the seconds until Rose would ask for clarification.

"So, more drinks, anyone? Dessert? Yeah? Let me just go … and um … grab that. I'll be back!" With that, I rushed out and hid in the kitchen for a good five minutes.

Dessert was homemade caramel and dark chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce and nuts, and I had to bite back my moans as I devoured it. Esme, sour bitchiness personified, was clearly not one for sweets and tried discreetly feeding the ice cream to Brutus.

"Esme?" I interrupted before she could. "I know you don't like me much, but trust me when I say a dog's really not supposed to eat any chocolate. It'll make him really sick if you actually do give this to him."

Her white pearly earrings suddenly stood in stark contrast with her reddened cheeks, and I knew she had wanted no one to notice her getting rid of the food, even though it was incredibly obvious to everyone what she'd been doing. "Right. Well," she said. "Brutus is a girl, by the way." She took another bite of her dessert and put it away, staring at it angrily for the next few minutes as if that would make it disappear.

As everyone else gushed about the rich flavors of the ice cream, Edward and I gathered the empty bowls to clean up, and Ben took the opportunity to steal his grandmother's dessert and eat that, too.

Suddenly, as I was juggling three empty bowls, Edward wasn't standing in front of me anymore —he was on the floor, next to me, on one knee, fumbling with his fingers. Surprise turned to shock turned to absolute dread. He wouldn't … not during this. Not in a room filled with people who don't seem to like me very much. Right? I glanced around the room quickly. Rose was examining her nails. Ben was still putting ice cream in his mouth as if he was a contestant at a binge-eating match. Carlisle was completely oblivious, studying the pictures on the walls, but Esme definitely saw and gasped, more in horror than any other emotion.

Well join the club, Mrs. Cullen. I looked back down at Edward. By now, I could see that between his fumbling fingers were his shoelaces, not a ring box. He slowly raised his head at me, a mischievous grin plastered on his pretty boy face, and winked. "Not like that, of course," he mumbled at me. He stood up again, unnecessarily announced to the room that his shoelace was untied, grabbed the bowls he'd left on the table, and continued his path to the kitchen.

"Ass!" I shouted at his retreating form before remembering the company in the room. "Um. I mean. Well."

"You certainly have a unique way of communicating," Esme stated icily.

"Yeah. Well." I shrugged, silently praying for the night to be over soon. I lacked better retorts, unfortunately, but I was saved the trouble anyway, as Brutus, the rat-girl-dog, started squealing and squeaking suddenly and desperately. I didn't know much about dogs, but this did not seem normal. Remembering Esme's semi-secret feeding of the beast, the simplest explanation I could come up with was she'd dropped some large walnuts and hazelnuts for the dog to eat, and its tiny rat-sized body couldn't handle food that size. It sure looked as if it was choking.

"Oh my, my Brutus, sweetie, what's wrong?" Esme asked worriedly, but the dog, incredibly, did not answer her.

I was probably the least suited for the job, not knowing anything about dogs or Brutus, but since everyone else was just watching the show of "This Dog Is Choking," I crouched down and grabbed the lightweight canine. Thinking of the story my father used to tell me about toddler Bella choking on a marshmallow, I figured dogs couldn't be all that different, and no one had voiced a better option anyway. Using one hand to pry open its mouth, and the other to float its body upside down in the air, I performed something that probably looked like dog torture, shaking it slightly. I hadn't thought this through much—Esme would surely find a way to blame me if the dog died now—but miraculously, a whole hazelnut flew out of the upside-down dog's mouth and rolled across the floor, covered in dog slime, before stopping its trajectory at Esme's expensive kitten heels, instantly leaving a sloppy wet mark on the pristine suede.

Brutus let out a cry, bringing me back to the dog instead of the hazelnut, just as Edward came back from the kitchen, looking at me curiously. I quickly put the dog back on the ground, where it wagged its tail and barked happily at me. I supposed Brutus approved.

I stood back up and made the unavoidable eye contact with Esme. One corner of her mouth lifted ever so slightly, but it was still the closest thing to a smile I'd seen all night, so I figured I'd take it.

The evening wrapped up soon after that, with Esme exclaiming they simply had to go home because Brutus needed to recuperate from the stressful evening. Carlisle rolled his eyes behind her back again before giving both of us firm hugs. Esme did not touch anyone, but she gave both of us individual nod-greetings before walking out with Brutus in Carlisle's arms.

"Is it weird that little nod she just gave me feels like some kind of personal accomplishment?" I asked Edward.

He laughed and wrapped his arms around me. "Ya did good, kid," he said in a weird voice. "Ya did real good."

"Is this a reference I should understand but am too young to actually get?" I asked innocently. It's not as if he would know I watched the Rocky films several times when I lived with my dad, and this was just too good an opportunity to pass up.

He groaned, and I cracked up. Esme was wrong. Everyone who gave us shit about the age difference was wrong. It had, so far, never been an actual problem, just an endless source of age-related humor, and damn right, we would show them all.

* * *

 **A/N Thanks for reading! Reviews are better than Cullen family dinners.**

 **Come meet Brutus at my facebook page, Lotus Wri(gh)tings.**

 **Thanks to Alice's White Rabbit for betaing, she rocks.**


	25. Chapter 25: Drunk

"Yo, Swan!" Mike suddenly yelled, his hand dangerously close to the ancient stereo's volume button. "I got you and your old man a song on the radio!"

We'd been alternating drunk karaoke since closing time an hour or two ago, so this wasn't too out of the ordinary; I had enthusiastically sung along with _Hit the Road, Jack,_ and _Eternal Flame_ earlier. I had also suffered through Mike's rendition of _Love Hurts,_ and Eric's eerily faithful Radiohead impression. All in all, it was a good night.

Now, though, Mike looked scary, with a smirk on his face that made me want to scrunch up my face. His pudgy features stretched out to show his yellowed teeth; the resulting grin caused an extra chin to appear. It wasn't pretty.

However, for once, he seemed to have had an excellent idea, I thought, as Icona Pop's _I Love It_ blasted from the speakers. I grinned at Edward, who of course didn't recognize the song at all, ancient man that he was.

"He's kinda right, you know," I said as I bumped Edward's shoulder. "This is toooootally about us. Listen!"

My alcohol intake prevented me from singing along to the verses, the words going too fast for my brain to catch up on the lyrics.

"You crashed your car into a bridge, and you let it burn? This is our song?" Edward asked, annoyingly semi-sober.

I rolled my eyes with all the drama I could find and had an errant thought that I would've made an Oscar-worthy actress. "No, doofus. Wait for it." I bumped his shoulder again for good measure. "Here it comes!" I squealed.

As the lyrics progressed to the bridge, I half-mumbled the words I knew—not nearly enough to make a coherent sentence—until the singer shouted the final sentence, which I joined in on passionately. "You're from the 70s, and I'm a 90s bitch! I love it! I don't care; I love it!"

My coworkers watched from their bar stools and applauded as I jumped up and down around the empty restaurant.

"You're kind of crazy," Edward said, wrapping his arms around me—undoubtedly to help me halt my movements; I'd gotten a little disoriented.

"Yeah, but, but, you get it? You're from the 70s, and I'm a 90s bitch. Well. Not a bitch. But you know."

"Yeah, I got it." He patted me on the head, deliberately being patronizing and annoying.

"Okay, that's it. You're switching from beer to tequila now. It's no fun when you're the only one who's sober. And it's my party anyway! Hollaaaaa!"

"I'll drink to that! Pour the girl another one, Mike," Tyler hiccupped, sloshing his beer. His fine motor skills had flown out the window half a dozen beers ago, and I was amazed he still knew what was happening around him at all.

Mike was almost as wasted and clumsily poured me another beer, cheerily handing it to me as if we weren't depleting the restaurant's stock in record time and that this wasn't just one of the many ways he was ruining The Rose financially. Edward received a small collection of tequila shots, which he dutifully started gulping down. I felt only a little bad about it.

"What are we celebrating again?" Eric asked. Eric's intellectual capacities were hindered by the alcohol; this was the third time he'd asked this. For some reason, I thought he was the funniest man alive at that moment.

Tyler gave him a slap on the shoulder with alcohol-fueled force, and Eric almost fell off his stool. "We are celebrating pre-mah-tssh. Tssh. Tsssurely. Prematssshurely. For Bella-babe here!"

"Miss Fancy Pants College girl here is almost ready to graduate," Tanya explained patiently. I eyed her suspiciously for no reason other than the fact that she'd just managed to pronounce all those words without so much as stumbling over one of them despite the fact she could more than keep up with the pace at which we were drinking. I distrusted people who didn't turn into embarrassing fools when they got drunk. Clearly, they must be mutants.

"I'm not a mutant, sweetie."

Crap. "I didn't say that."

Tanya smiled that sweet smile only sincerely nice people manage to pull off, the kind that shows sympathy and yet isn't patronizing or pitying or belittling, and I hated her just a little bit more for that as I struggled to keep those thoughts actually _inside_ my head.

"Anyway. I still have finals left, so I'm not sure why we're celebrating. There's still a pretty big chance I'll flunk a bunch of those."

"Blah, blah," Edward interjected. It was the first time I'd heard his voice in about ten minutes. For all his easy socializing, Edward was the quiet type of drunk, seemingly lost in his own world, staring at the foam on his beer in silence, puckered eyebrows and all. I was glad to hear him join in on the conversation, even if this wasn't exactly his most intelligent input ever.

"You know you'll rock this shhiiii—stuff. Wait. Why am I not just saying 'shit'? I'm confused."

I tried really hard not to laugh at his expense too much, and I failed spectacularly.

"I hope I'll do well. But it's like … don't count your … something hatches? Eggs? Something with chickens? Fuck, I suck at language. Why did I ever study literature?"

"Anyway!" Tanya spoke up again, ignoring my confused mumbling. "We are also in mourning! Grief! Sadness!" Her voice became louder with each word and she accompanied her voice with wonderfully outrageous hand gestures, which made me a little more convinced that she was, indeed, as wasted as the rest of us, so despite her message of tragedy, I smiled.

Eric looked confused, as if he hadn't heard any of our lengthy farewell speeches tonight, but the repetition seemed to bother no-one, so Tanya continued. "Emmett's leaving us for bigger and better things, honey."

Such was the full extent of "reasons" to drink ourselves silly, flimsy as they were. Emmett had stuck around as a part-time line cook after his internship was over but recognized the sinking ship he was on (the door to the men's bathroom fell off its hinges two weeks ago, and had yet to be fixed; the decay was becoming more and more obvious) and had found a financially sound place to work, instead. My guess was he was also more than happy to be far away from Edward when he'd finally reveal that he'd been dating his boss's daughter for the past half-year. This was the worst kept secret ever, but Edward still seemed oblivious, which made for a perfect running joke between the rest of the staff.

Anyway. I digress.

I was nearing the end of my college career, having worked myself to the bone to fit in as many business credits as I could. As soon as I'd figured out that I wanted to study business, I'd jumped in enthusiastically, overzealously, with extra credits, heavy course loads, and summer classes. With all the general education classes I'd taken in my first two and a half years at UDub, and an elective or two that miraculously counted for my business degree, it meant I was now ready to graduate, only a little over a year after the idea first came up. Finals were definitely going to kick my ass, but since I'd been combining far too many courses with far too many hours at work for far too long, now was as good a time as any to relax and go crazy. Besides, the fun at The Rose would end soon anyway, either because Edward and I managed to start our own place, or because Mike had finally reached the point of no return for The Rose's tragic state of being and Aro pulled the plug.

But tonight, we drank.

For all that we—and by we, I mean late-night working restaurant personnel—were used to late nights and heavy drinking, I had never seen Edward drunk. It was a marvelous sight to behold. I would've filmed it if I could just have remembered the needlessly complicated pattern I'd set to unlock my phone.

Edward stumbled out of the cab with all the grace of a baby deer—hopelessly unstable, but incredibly adorable. I'd like to say I was much steadier on my feet, but I was pretty uncoordinated on a good day, so that would be a lie. Still, the contrast between the usually poised, adult, responsible man I usually saw and the stumbling drunk I was seeing now was funny, and I tried to will my brain not to forget the sight of it in the morning.

"Ahem," he announced in front of the door, standing as stiff as a butler. He held up his finger to emphasize every syllable he spoke next. "You, miss. Need. A …" The finger went up, up, up to his chin in a standard "I'm thinking so hard" gesture. Apparently, Edward on alcohol turned into a clichéd cartoon character. "What's the word? I'm expecting a light bulb over my head any moment now." Yep, definitely a cartoon character.

I stood silently and waited. It wasn't as if I had the mental capacity to finish his sentences.

"Key!" he yelled triumphantly, actually throwing his fist in the air in victory.

Immediately, my neighbor's window opened, and old Mrs. Pott, clad in a lilac flower-patterned nightgown, stuck out her angry face, hair curlers and nightly greenish mud mask and all. I guessed Edward wasn't the only clichéd cartoon character tonight. "Would you young people quiet down already?" she yelled.

"Shit, did I end up in Toontown?" I wondered out loud.

Both Edward and Mrs. Pott looked confused. I tried to let it go and instead remembered Edward's brilliant idea of finding our house key, which I dug out of my purse in what felt like record time. What an epiphany. I was amazingly fast when I was drunk! "Ha! I could totally race Bolt right now."

Edward and Mrs. Pott did not change their confused expressions. I shrugged and went to open the door, which incidentally only took three tries, thank you very much.

I waved bye to Mrs. Pott and went for the door along with Edward, where we almost got stuck in the doorway because it wasn't big enough for both our bodies to pass through simultaneously. "Forget Toontown, maybe it's slapstick," I mumbled. Edward gave me an odd look, shook his head, and as we closed the door behind us, clearly decided to change the subject to one he understood.

"You're so pretty," he slurred, pushing me against the hall wall.

Heh. Hall wall. "Hall wall sounds funny."

He shrugged. "Okay. Can I kiss you now?"

I nodded, and he stumbled into me immediately. Hands grabbed body parts with much less finesse than either of us was used to. Thankfully, our methods of scoring such encounters had been loosened up significantly too, so nothing mattered. Teeth clashed against each other. His fingers twisted my nipples much too hard, my intended slap on his butt missed its mark, instead hitting pelvic bones, and we both yelped.

"I want to see your sexy, mister," I said in what I was certain was the sultriest voice I had ever attempted. I batted my eyelashes for good measure. "Take off the clothes."

"Yes," he agreed with a nod and a return of the pointy finger gesture. "However! I do believe you, too, should be, um, naked."

"What!" I yelled, mostly because I hadn't actually processed his words. "Why?"

"Because," he started slowly, then growled, "sexy time!"

That sounded fair to me. I discarded my shirt and bra with the epic superhero speed I felt I had acquired due to alcoholic overindulgence but ran into problems with my tight skinny jeans, which were hard to peel off my ankles on a good day, let alone when slightly uncoordinated and drunkenly hopping on one leg. I paused for a second to look up at Edward, only to see him standing proudly naked in front of me, full mast and all.

"Woman!" he groaned. I didn't like him calling me that but realized the inevitable discussion that would follow from saying this; after all, was I not a woman? I settled for a frown.

"You take too long," he continued, then put his arms around my waist and lifted me up. I'm sure he would have thrown me over his shoulder caveman-style had he had the presence of mind and necessary balance skills for it; instead, he settled for hugging me close to him, my legs dangling awkwardly in the air. My left foot was still stuck in the jeans, which dragged across the floor as he carried me through the hall until he managed to land his foot on the discarded pant leg, and we both went down. I lay on the floor, laughing hysterically despite the pain I felt from my back hitting the hardwood floor. Edward's full weight pressed on my chest, making it hard to breathe. He seemed too bewildered to actually move voluntarily, so I slapped him with what little force I had left in my arms.

He blinked twice, returning to this plane of reality, before pushing himself up on his arms and off my poor breathless body. I brought a hand to my chest in a mock dramatic gesture. Edward's eyes followed my fingers' every movement, so I went on to my nipples, the swell of my breasts, before trailing down to my belly button. I imagined my fingers to be a silly little stick man and made my index finger and middle finger behave like the legs and walk down, which made me giggle, but somehow it didn't diminish my horniness.

Edward sat back on his knees to watch the show, so I figured why not? And proceeded to give him one.

"You're so pretty," he said as I came. I lifted my hand to stroke his cheek gently, ever so softly, before grabbing a handful of his hair and pulling him toward me.

"So are you. Now get in."

He frowned. "Get in? Are you a car?"

"All right. Bad word choice. You have a point. How about, please fuck me?"

"Much better," he replied with a grin and a thrust, and no words were said for a little while—for a little while it was, indeed; alcohol does not improve one's stamina, sadly.

After, we lay next to each other on the hallway floor, a little sweaty and no less drunk. I pursed my lips. "7/10, I'd say. Although this floor's a pain in the ass. Literally."

"Seven, really? I need to work harder. Also, how about the bed?"

"Too far, too far! Ugh. I need to be the level of ultra-famous so I can have a servant who won't bat an eye at dragging my naked, sexed-up body to bed."

Edward chuckled. "You're funny. And pretty."

I kissed him on the nose, because that was the closest part and I didn't want to stretch farther. "You're pretty too."

He nodded, as if this was a perfectly mundane thing to hear from him. Maybe it was.

"I think you should marry me," he said.

"Hmmm," I agreed. "I probably should."

His brow furrowed. "Well?"

"Well, you should probably propose then."

"But I just did?"

I shook my head and regretted it instantly; hardwood floors were not made to roll one's skull over. "Nuh uh. That does not a proposal make."

"You could say yes regardless."

"Yes regardless."

"Is that a yes?"

"Was that a proposal?"

"Well, yeah."

"Then, well, yeah."

He nodded and winced, undoubtedly reaching the same conclusion about skulls and hardwood floors. "Good." Edward lifted my head with his arm and pulled me to his chest. I entangled my legs with his and we promptly fell asleep.

* * *

 **A/N Yes, yes, it's been a while, I know, I suck, I've been busy, etcetera. Lots of job hunting. I also suck for not replying to reviews. Found a job (or 2) now, yay!**

 **Thanks go out to Alice's White Rabbit who fixes all the many, many mistakes in my writing.**

 **ICYMI: I'm co-hosting a Twilight Fanfic contest called Beyond the Bedroom. It's basically 100% smut. It'll be fun. Come join? Find us on Facebook (Beyond the Bedroom: a Twilight Fanfic Contest), through my own Facebook group (Lotus Wri(gh)tings), or through my favorite authors here on FFN.**

 **Reviews are better than drunk proposals. Leave me one?**


	26. Chapter 26

**Chapter 26 - Squealing**

 **Ha, betcha didn't think this was ever going to happen.**

 **Unbeta'd, because I spent over a year (!) writing this bitch and when I was done I just wanted to get it out already.**

* * *

I woke up feeling like a piece of Ikea furniture put together by a blind five-year-old. Every single inch of my body ached, my ass was freezing, and all I could do was groan.

"Hmmm. Hallway floor does not make for comfortable sleeping. Noted," Edward remarked cheerfully, wiping the sleep from his eyes. How one could wake up and be truly _awake_ so instantaneously, I would never understand. I groaned again for good measure.

"I am so torn between wanting to move to a more comfortable place and not wanting to move any body part at all," I muttered. I may have pouted a little bit.

In true Edward fashion, he jumped up smoothly, noisily cracked a few muscles in his back as he stretched, and grinned down at me. "Up you go, miss."

"I'm waiting for you to offer me your hand, you barbarian." I was never good with mornings, and those that followed drunken sleepovers on hard wooden floors did not a happy Bella make. He grabbed my hand and helped me up, rolling his eyes through all my vocal protests of muscles not wanting to move, and then suddenly, a light bulb turned on in my head. "Offering… hand. Oh God. Cullen! You proposed last night, didn't you?"

Edward blinked stupidly, once, twice, then cleared his throat. "Huh. I guess I did."

That woke me up, because I was never one to let an opportunity for a sarcastic sneer pass by. "Well, I'm glad you're so enthusiastic about it." I scowled my best Draco Malfoy scowl and dramatically turned around to leave the room, which surely would have been a lot more dignified had I been wearing clothes, but still. A dramatic exit is _always_ a good idea.

"Drama queen," Edward stated. He didn't even raise his voice and although I was walking away, I just knew he was rolling his eyes again.

In keeping with the dramatics, I halted and pirouetted back to face him. "I would retort something really angry right now if it wasn't quite so true, you know."

Slowly, I saw my favorite grin grow on his face, and the sparkle back in his eye. "Of course." He grabbed my hand and pulled my naked body closer to his. His finger trailed my cheek softly. "Hey, Cookie? Do you wanna marry me?"

Naturally, this loving look in his begging green eyes melted my insides, but I reasoned that at this point, I should not show my puddle-of-goo status and instead, make it harder for him. In the back of my mind, I recognized that this was exactly why women were known to be foolish and unreasonable creatures. This did not deter me. "That depends," I grumbled. "Do _you_?"

Undeterred by my childish obstinacy, his smile grew larger. "Yeah, I really do. Do you?"

For whatever reason I had tried to remain stubborn and pouting, I was helpless against that smile, that soft voice expressing in so few words that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with me, those calloused fingers with their countless burn scars tracing my face.

"'Kay," I stammered, almost a whisper.

He kissed me, disregarding morning breath and bed hair and mascara smudges beneath my eyes that made me look like a drunken panda.

It took another half hour before we finally managed to leave the hallway.

.

*.*

.

Thankfully we had absolutely nothing better to do than slowly recovering from our hangovers, so we hung around in old, giant bean bags Edward had stashed away somewhere, wearing slippers and bathrobes and eating a mountain of greasy food we'd had delivered. It was pure bliss, really, and so we should have known it wouldn't last. Rudely interrupting our near-naked, post-orgasmic bliss was Edward's mother, barging in unannounced with a careless "Oh, I thought I'd drop by for a cup of coffee," her upper lip twitching with obvious disgust at our slothlike states.

Esme Cullen was not to be denied, although we vehemently (yet silently) refused to change into more appropriate outfits, comb our hair, or wash the sex-related layer of sweat off our bodies. We sipped our coffees in the kitchen, making awkward small talk, but mostly listening to Esme. Why was she here? Nothing she mentioned in her monologues contained any information of the sort - she talked about everything from her hydrangeas to the sister-in-law of her hairdresser's neighbor's new dog, but nothing at all about her visit to us. Nothing to ask us how we were doing, even.

A thought suddenly occurred to me, and I barked out a laugh in the middle of Esme's gossip about her elderly neighbor who had accidentally dyed her hair purple. She did not pause aside from a flicker of evil in her eyes and a slight raise of her eyebrow.

What if Esme was somehow psychic, paranormally synced to the word 'wedding' or 'propose'? Did she somehow know? Did she just have a sixth sense and was she waiting for us to bring it up? Is it a test?

"We're getting married," I blurted out in the midst of Esme's recounting of how Mrs. Pollyweed's perm looks in lilac overtones. The Cullen man and mother looked at me with near-identical expressions of surprise, although hopefully the former's was only brought on by the outburst and not the actual message. I shrugged at him, silently conveying my "What? It made sense in my head."

Esme blinked, once, twice, mouth slightly open but not obscenely so; surely, open-mouthed shock is far below a person like her. The kitchen clock-an absolutely hideous purple-and-yellow children's clock shaped like a fat chicken, of all things-ticked away the seconds in the otherwise completely silent kitchen.

Abruptly, Esme regained her composure. Ridding her voice of all possible emotion and honesty, she turned to us both. "Congratulations. I must say this is rather surprising. I wish you both the best. Now, have you started planning yet? Of course, we can't use The Bellevue now, can't have two subsequent weddings in the same place, we don't want to be tacky. This does create some additional problems." She sighed dramatically, but somehow continued talking fast enough that we were unable to interrupt. "Very well. I'll look into it and start working on the guest list. Have you set a date yet? Next year June, I'd think?"

As opposed to Esme's dignified surprise-face, I have to say it is possible that never in my life was I able to imitate a fish so perfectly, mouth open, dumb, unseeing eyes, as in that moment.

"Um…" Edward said.

"I'll pencil you in for gown shopping some time next week, Bella. I have to go; so much planning to do." And with that, she was gone.

The sound of the door being shut behind her jolted some life back into me. "Edward… was our wedding just hi-jacked by your mother?"

"Um…" Edward said again.

"I'm not sure whether it worries me or calms me that you seem to be even more shocked than I am."

"Right." He shook his head, as if forcing some confusing nargles away from him, and blinked. "We should probably get on the wedding planning ourselves within the next ten minutes if we want to stop my mother from turning it into a high class extravaganza that will bankrupt us completely."

"Right. Good point." I sipped my coffee, stale and cold, with a layer of milk floating on top. "So. Date?"

"Soon, soon-ish. Size?"

"Please let's not make this a gigantic to-do. You, me, the people we love and a party, yeah?"

"Excellent plan." Edward nodded thoughtfully. "Suit, dress, car, but nothing else too fancy?"

"Yes. Good food, good drinks, music and fun?"

"Sounds perfect. Location?"

"Something small. Intimate."

"Not too flashy and expensive."

"God no. We party like the lower middle class people we are. Ooh! How about Alice's loft?"

"Alice has a loft?"

"Well yeah. Once I said 'lower middle class', I remembered Alice's actually stupidly rich. She sort of… owns an old refurbished church that she's turned into artist studios with a large open space on the first floor. It's gorgeous, really. Stained glass, wood beams, decorated ceilings… enough room to hold a party but not too large that it'll feel empty."

As Edward agreed to check it out, Esme walked back into the apartment without announcing herself. "I forgot my scarf. Edward, by the way, I'll call the Four Seasons, see if they're available next year June."

"Actually, mother," Edward interrupted her as she was walking back to the door. "I'm pretty sure we've just managed to plan almost the entire wedding already."

I felt a little bad for Esme as I watched her face fall slightly beneath the icy business-like facade, and simultaneously happy that we seemed to have avoided the disaster of a wedding planned by someone who knew nothing of our tastes and interests and cared even less about them. No, that wasn't right - Esme did care, or try to. She just had no idea how to deal with people who were different from her, and so tended to assume that everyone wanted the same things in life as she did. Our rejection of her plans probably felt ungrateful to her, because who wouldn't want a perfectly planned wedding spectacle?

It may have been the pang of sympathy I felt that, despite my better judgment, made me speak up. "Actually, I do have to shop for a dress, at least, so if your offer for that still stands?"

Esme stood a little straighter. Edward turned to me, eyes wide and full of horrified surprise, and I tried a subtle shrug in response to communicate my "Eh, I know. I don't know what I'm thinking either."

.

*.*

.

Esme had left our apartment with a near-silent huff and a raised chin, which I felt was so gloriously upper class that I attempted to copy it throughout the day in response to anything Edward said, until he threatened to duct-tape my chin to my chest instead - to which I huffed, of course, chin up, and he'd had to chase me through the living room holding the tape in his hands before I gave up. Truly, we were an extraordinarily well-adjusted, adult couple.

Still in fear of having our simple wedding hijacked, I had immediately called Alice for squealing, giggling, and asking her about her church-loft, which led to more squealing and giggling.

"I'm not sure I speak girl-speak well enough to know what just happened," Edward said after I'd hung up. "Did she agree?"

"Yes, you manly man you. Do not fret! I shall translate into your less-refined language. She thought it was awesome, there's a couple of dates that are free, and we can come by tomorrow morning to check it out before you have to work."

"Sounds great."

"She also wants to make us a wedding cake," I added. Both of our smiles grew into love-sick grins. This was real, and happening. We were really going to get married!

I squealed, again.

We celebrated hard enough to regret it the next morning as our alarms went off - far too early, because Edward had to work lunch so we'd had to cram our visit to our potential wedding site into a small time slot in the morning.

"Why are we doing this again?" I groaned at the ceiling.

"Because I'm awesome and you want to marry me," Edward replied cheerfully.

"Ugh. I hate morning people. But fair point, regardless." Adding some groans to show just how displeased I was with the time, I sat up to find Edward fully awake, carrying tea, coffee and a wrapped present.

"Ooh! Present!"

Edward laughed. "Well, there's one way to make you into a morning person, I see. I got you something."

I wasted no time in removing the paper, and found… "Balls? They're… small balls. Attached to each other. With a little rope. Um. Thank you?"

"Your pretend-gratefulness is astoundingly bad. Anyway, they're geisha balls. It's a sex toy. You can wear them inside you… all day… while you go about your business and no one's the wiser… and hopefully when I get home from work, you'll be through-the-roof horny."

My eyes grew wide with the possibilities. "I'm not sure whether this will be torture or heaven, but I can't wait to try it."

An hour later, dressed in simple clothes and with a vagina filled with two small balls, we made our way to Alice's loft. "Are you sure I'm not walking like a penguin? I feel like I'm walking like a penguin."

"Stop worrying so much, and let it feel good. You look fine and natural, except for when you're jumping from foot to foot like that to see if they fall out. They will not fall out," he added patiently.

At that moment, Alice came running out of a room and straight into my arms, squealing. "Oh my god, I can't believe you're getting married! Congratulations! Edward, you too! Oh my gosh, it's going to be amazing. I hope you'll choose this place, we can make it so gorgeous! Let me show you!"

The first floor of the old church had been refurbished into a metal factory decades ago, before that use, too, had become obsolete. The large, empty room breathed layers and layers of history, faded colors on the walls mixed with industrial leftovers. It was a gorgeous room, but it didn't look anything like a church anymore, and was very bare and slightly more hipster-photoshoot than wedded bliss. I saw a small frown appear on Edward's face.

Alice, however, had noticed too. "Okay, so this will be the entrance hall, not where you'll get married, but I was thinking we could have the dinner after the ceremony here, with a dance floor and long tables and such - or less traditional, maybe, with separate bars and food stands and small tables spread throughout?"

My eyes lit up at the way Alice managed to play with tradition. A dinner wouldn't be stuffy white tables and haute cuisine, but finger foods and food stands, lots of different flavors in small bites, sounded awesome. I could see the party lights and the dance floor in my mind's eye, and I knew Edward was imagining the same as he squeezed my hand.

Alice just grinned and nodded, not needing words after so many years. "Let's go upstairs and see the room for the ceremony, yeah?" She skipped away, high heels echoing through the room with every step.

Edward followed her, then me, and I knew the exact moment the upstairs view became visible to Edward, as his gasp was audible and he stopped walking for a second before I shoved him. "Wow," he said softly.

"Hey, move on mister, I wanna see too," I whined, and seconds later got my wish. "Wow," I repeated.

We were only one floor up, but it felt like a different universe. The building's church history was tangible here. Large windows with stained glass gave the room gorgeous lighting, but what really blew me away were the wooden support beams that extended into the room, holding up the vault roof. Having spent most of my life not bothered to look at any kind of architectural support beams, I marveled at the construction and the fact that every single beam was decorated with intricate wood carvings, forming flowers, fleur-de-lys and curly patterns. The roof itself, at first glance, seemed to be simple wooden planks, but closer inspection revealed old layers of decorative patterns painted on. The decay only added to its charm, somehow; instead of a doubtlessly hysterical brightly colored pattern, it now just looked beautiful.

Having thoroughly examined the sides of the empty room, my eyes were drawn to the very end of it, a simple blank wall where once an altar may have stood. The pointed arches of the next room, closed off from this one, were shown as a beautifully simple relief, thee thick lines framing an empty space where I could instantly see us standing, holding hands, speaking our vows, exchanging our rings.

We were all silent, Edward and I just looking at everything, taking in the unique beauty of the room, with a lump in my throat from how much this room spoke to me.

"I want it," I finally managed.

"Yeah," Edward whispered.

"Yay!" Alice squealed loudly, dragging both of us into an awkward group hug, hustling us about and making the balls jingle inside of me, strangely adding to my excitement.

A little later, Edward dropped Alice and me off at our apartment, having decided on an impromptu lunch and brainstorming session for cakes and party decoration ideas; Edward had to work anyway, so a girls' day sounded great. "Have fun," he said with a wink and a weird eyebrow movement that was probably meant to convey he had not forgotten about what was currently inside my body. Neither had I, of course; the longer the balls were in me, the more it stimulated… everything. I'd been steadily climbing the ladder of horniness, and was hoping Edward would make it home early, because I'd been stupid enough to promise I wouldn't take matters into my own hands.

"Coffee?" I asked Alice as we walked into our place, carelessly throwing coats and keys in the direction of the coat rack.

It was not to be. As if sensing our arrival - or perhaps she'd been lying in wait all crouching tiger-style - the door flew open again to admit Esme Cullen, a fierce look on her face that meant all business. Alice threw me a surprised look that said _does she always just barge in like that?_ And I shrugged and rolled my eyes a little, because, well, yes.

"Ladies," Esme began before we could even greet her. "I've managed to secure an appointment at Marcella's, even though she's generally booked up for weeks. You'll thank me, I'm sure. We'll have to hurry, however, as the appointment is in twenty minutes. Grab your coat off the floor, will you Bella? No time to waste." And with that, she turned on her feet and click-clacked her heels towards the door again.

 _Marcella's?_ Alice mouthed.

 _No idea_ , I mouthed back.

"Now, please, ladies. You have no idea how impossible it is to get an appointment there. It's only the most exclusive bridal gown salon in the entire state. Chop, chop," Esme said, and snapped her fingers like I imagined she'd do to a waiter in a restaurant.

Shocked into obedience, we followed her to find a taxi waiting for us downstairs.

It was only after the taxi doors closed and the three of us were on our way that I realized I was about to go dress shopping with Esme Cullen, and with geisha balls up my va-jay-jay.

* * *

 **A/N**

 **Um. Hiiiiii? Remember me?**

 **Okay, so, it's been a while. More than a year! My god. I'm very sorry. I'm sure none of you even remember what this fic is about. I know I barely do. I do hope to write a little more often in the next few months. There aren't that many chapters left - wedding preparation, wedding, maybe an epilogue? Anyway.**

 **I based the venue on a real place near where I live - I'll post pics on my facebook (Lotus Wrightings, come find my group :) ). It really is magical and gorgeous. Marcella's is also real but probably not as exclusive as was needed for this story.**


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